


24/7

by SwirlsOfBlueJay



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Abuse, Dark, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-30
Updated: 2011-04-24
Packaged: 2017-10-15 05:58:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 22,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwirlsOfBlueJay/pseuds/SwirlsOfBlueJay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the DBS a badly brain-damaged House is left in Wilson's care. Unfortunately Wilson is still feeling more than a little resentment towards House for Ambers death and goes to extra-ordinary lengths to make sure House pays for it. WARNING; VERY DARK.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

I run him a bath. The water is warm because I know his history and I’m not a complete bastard; besides people would start to notice if I broke him. I tell him to scrub himself but he still doesn’t quite understand, so I do it for him, just like I’ve always done everything for him. It’s only fair that now I’m getting something in return. Afterwards I towel him off and get him dressed. Then I sit him on a chair facing the wall and leave him there until lunch-time using the time to read and catch up with paperwork.

  
Lunch is the same old routine of him watching me eat. Suddenly he steals a chicken sandwich off my plate; his eyes are wide with fear as he holds on to it for dear life. I take a quick look at the chart I keep a record of everything in. It’s been 53 hours since I last let him eat, so I let him keep the sandwich. I’ll still punish him for his disobedience later though. He has to learn that there are consequences to breaking rules.

  
Once he’s eaten his sandwich I tell him we have to get ready for his punishment. I tell him that not stealing is a very serious rule and so he’s going to receive a very serious punishment.

  
I get everything ready slowly; I enjoy drawing out his fear and anticipation. I deliberately place a belt on the table in front of him. He’s already biting his lip and trembling slightly. I place a steak knife next to it. His trembling increases. I line up some of my tools on the table; I probably won’t use all this stuff but the look on his face when I put them there is priceless. Screwdriver, hammer, drill, nails, scalpel, needle, syringe.

  
“Please.” He says. I smile at him and tell him he should follow the rules. I pull his top off and fasten a gag into his mouth so there aren’t any sounds to alert the neighbours. Then I sit down opposite him, watching him, watching his panic gradually increase as the minutes tick by. Sometimes waiting really is the best part. I prefer passive actions like with-holding food and painkillers rather than actual violence; it’s been a few weeks since I’ve actually beaten him, but this warrants serious punishment.

  
I get up and move him into position; him bending over with palms flat on the table. He desperately shuffles trying to get his leg into a position where it won’t hurt as much. I make a mental note to check the chart for the last time I allowed him to have a vicodin, it’s got to be about four days. He doesn’t deserve pain relief, and I’ve told him so several times, but maybe I’ll give him a pill tomorrow; I’m just a kind person that way.

  
I run my fingers over his ribs; they’re quite prominent now. I pick up the belt; I pull my arm back and throw my whole body into the lashing; hitting his back with full force. I repeatedly land the belt over the freshly created lacerations, painfully slicing them open further. I raise the belt again, and again, and again, and again. There are tears of pain rolling down his cheeks. I continue the beating; again and again and again. Hopefully this time he’ll learn. Pretty soon he’s curled up on the floor in a ball, letting out muffled sobs and sniffling. I pull him up placing his hands back on the table; I tell him we’re not finished.

  
This time I decide to land the belt on his right thigh. Even though he’s still gagged the sounds he produces are horrific; I love them. I bring it down on his thigh once more.

  
House abruptly starts clawing at his gag with panic and I realise he’s probably choking on his own vomit. I take a moment to savour the irony of the situation (there goes the chicken sandwich) before swiftly removing the gag. He spews all over the kitchen table, and I sigh, the annoying thing about this situation is I’ll have to clean it up, forcing him to do it would be wholly inefficient. First I delicately clean and dress his wounds.

  
I sit him back on the chair facing the wall. He dazedly stares into space and he shakes. I clean up the table, when I’ve finished the shaking is still there but it has diminished. Eventually he calms down. I take him to the toilet; I decide to brush his teeth while we’re here; before his vomit-breath makes him throw up again. I tell him it’s time to clean his teeth, he nods. I gently wrap his fingers around the brush, and place my hand over his, softly guiding the brush over his teeth.

  
I sit him on the wall-chair again. About an hour later I notice that he’s fidgeting. I tell him off, he knows the rules; he knows he’s supposed to stay still and quiet. As punishment for moving I take away the chair and make him stand facing the wall. He winces constantly as he futilely tries to get his leg to stop screaming at him, I still leave him standing there. He has to learn. After half an hour of standing I allow him to have the chair back, he sinks into it with relief.

  
I let him have dinner. He’s reached the point where he’s stealing food despite knowing the consequences; I figure I should allow him to have some. I spoon-feed him some vegetable soup.

  
After dinner I put him on the scales, he’s still not dangerously underweight, so it’s ok. Then I sit him at the piano bench and tell him to play. It’s part of the checking I do every evening, something different every evening. I know if he began to regain his mental capacity he’d be smart enough to try to hide it from me, the tests are designed to make sure I catch it if it happens.

  
The piano is one of my favourite tests, so I don’t use it very often. I listen carefully as House bangs the keys randomly. I know if he was trying to hide, the playing would still seem random, but it would have that undercurrent of calculated thought; that most people often missed with him. They always saw the random acts of genius and ignored the laboriously considered thought processes that went alongside them; but I always saw them and I know I would now. Once I’m satisfied that he’s still in the same state I tell him to stop.

  
When Cuddy calls House turns around in his chair with an expression of joy on his face. (Not facing the wall is against the rules but I kindly let it go). I talk to her for a bit and when she asks to speak to House I tell her he’s in a bit of a mood and doesn’t want to speak to her. Hearing this, House looks crestfallen, I smile at him. His conversations with Cuddy are really one of the only things he has to look forward to. Other than me she’s the only one who’s learned how to talk to him with sentences he understands.

  
She insists on talking to him and I can’t afford to make her suspicious so soon after the severe punishment I delivered this afternoon. So I hand House the phone. He says ‘Hi’ enthusiastically, and I’m already thinking of how to justify saying he was in a mood. Like usual most of the conversation is Cuddy talking, with a one-word response from House here and there.

  
House seems very happy when he hands the phone back. I know I should crush the undeserved happiness, but the part of me that was his friend for fifteen years bubbles to the surface and refuses to. Cuddy tells me she’s coming for a visit tomorrow, trying to make it sound like she’s not checking up on things. Telling her House was in a bad mood was a stupid lie. The visit explains House’s happiness; he knows that when people visit he’s allowed to watch TV and listen to music and eat cherry red lollipops. House enjoys the break in our routine, and it has the lovely side effect of convincing everyone I’m doing a great job, managing to keep the king of grumpiness happy.

  
I tell him it is bedtime, he nods. I put him in bed and pull the covers over him. I go about the house getting rid of any hint of evidence of what actually takes place here. I think over how to ensure Cuddy doesn’t get suspicious. After today’s beating he won’t be moving around like he usually does. I write out a plan. Then I double check the place for evidence, and then double check the plan. Once I’m satisfied I set the alarm and go to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

 

I wake House and tell him he has to be careful today. I bathe him, brush his teeth and wash his hair. Then I zip him into the body-suit I have that makes him appear to be his regular weight. I put his clothes on; carefully making sure the body-suit can’t be seen through them. I brush his hair. I give him breakfast because I can’t take the chance that his stomach will start rumbling. I also give him two vicodin so he won’t end up wincing at small movements due to his injuries.

 

 

I sit him on the sofa and remind him of all the rules. No letting her touch him (she’ll notice the body-suit), no talking about the punishments, no talking about the pain, no talking about the hunger, no showing her anything to do with those. He nods; he remembers. I tell him there’s a new one; he has to stay in his seat; too much movement may tip Cuddy off. I repeat the new rule a few times so I’m certain he understands.

 

 

The clock shows that it’s almost time for Cuddy’s arrival. I turn on the TV, selecting one of the soaps House used to watch (I keep them on Tivo for this sort of occasion) and I hand him a red lollipop. I tell him to get himself comfortable. He crosses his legs putting his feet on the coffee table. He’s already smiling with eyes glued to the screen; that’s good. I move things around, making sure the scene doesn’t look staged. There’s a knock at the door.

 

 

“It’s nice to see you.” I greet Cuddy, only holding the door a little open.

 

 

“You too.” She replies.

 

  
“Look, I’m sorry I was acting like an idiot on the phone yesterday.”  I say sheepishly, she raises a questioning eyebrow.

 

  
“It’s just we’d had a very difficult day, and I was finding it all a bit too much, which made me feel ashamed. I guess I was afraid House would tell on me or something.”

 

  
“There’re always going to be hard days, you know that, and we can all tell you’re doing a great job.” She replies.

 

  
“I just don’t feel like I am.”

 

  
“You just need a break, I can look after him for a few hours a week if it helps; and I’m sure the others would be willing to help out.”

 

  
“You know how he gets when I leave him with other people Lisa. Besides it was just a bad day, I’m fine now.”

 

  
She nods in grudging acceptance and I finally open the door properly so she can step through. She tries to talk to House. He ignores her and continues to watch TV (he’s learned that she’ll stay longer and wait for him to start talking when he does this). I’ve told him he shouldn’t do it, but haven’t made it a rule yet. Cuddy asks me whether he even understands the soaps anymore. I truthfully tell her that he does around 20% of the time.

 

 

Cuddy talks to him about the hospital, about unbelievable clinic patients and pervy donors. I can tell she’s a little upset when he doesn’t make a joke about her cleavage. It’s just more evidence that the old House is gone. House responds excitedly with his singular word sentences.

 

 

I’m not paying much attention when Cuddy asks a question (probably about music) which leads to House getting up to retrieve something. He has taken a step when he freezes; he gives me a look of pure horror realising he’s broken the new rule. He knows rules regarding visitors are the most important to keep. I hurriedly say I’ll get whatever it is, guiding him back into his seat. ‘Bad leg day’ I mouth silently towards Cuddy, she nods understandingly. He stays pretty upset after that, wondering what his misstep will cost him.

 

 

“Please.” He says as soon as Cuddy leaves.

 

  
“What? You deserve to be punished.” I respond. It looks like he’s about to start hyperventilating.

 

  
“No...Russell.” He says, his voice quivering. I sigh. He’s referring to what happened after a misstep a few months ago; he accidentally showed Chase a bit of the body-suit while scratching an itch. I paid a guy (Russell) to work him over a bit; the guy went a little overboard, ok, a lot overboard.

 

  
“I told you; I’m never letting him anywhere near you again.” I say softly. He doesn’t really comprehend this and continues pleading with me.

 

“Please.” He begs. He’s sobbing and gasping and his nose is running everywhere. I wipe his nose and pull him into a hug.

 

“No Russell.” I tell him. He whimpers into my chest, nodding; “Please”.

 

“Ok. No Russell.” I say. He begins to calm down. I tell him he’s still getting punished, but he doesn’t really seem to care. All he cares about at the moment is that he doesn’t have to deal with Russell again. I sit him back in the chair facing the wall while I think of how to punish him. Another beating would be a bit repetitive and excessive. I open the cupboard that contains my arsenal. I scan over the various poisons (non-deadly), and bleaches, and acids etc. I grin as my eyes fall on the can of extra strong itching powder; perfect.

 

 

I strip all of House’s clothes off, leaving him standing naked. I begin spreading the powder over him. I cover every inch of him from his neck to his toes. Then I sit him back into his wall chair, tying his hands so that he can’t scratch. House wriggles frantically, rubbing as much of himself on the chair as he can and also rubbing his legs together. I watch with glee as he futilely tries to calm the itching. 

 

 

After a while I untie his hands and watch as he scratches the hell out of himself. His skin ends up very red, blotchy and covered in scratches. Eventually he winds down to sitting still helplessly with bouts of pathetically small scratches every couple of minutes. I leave him there for half an hour longer before I give him a bath, making sure I remove all of it. I also clean the chair thoroughly before I sit him back on it. He stays there until it’s time for my nightly checks. Then I put him to bed, telling him everything will be better tomorrow if he just behaves.

 

\-----

 

 

House obviously takes my words last night about him behaving to heart. The last couple of days have been very hard on him. He behaves impeccably; sitting still, being quiet and facing the wall throughout the day like he’s supposed to. I decide not to force him to watch me eat and leave him sitting in the wall chair, with a glass of water.

 

 

He remains similarly obedient the next day, except for the noise of his teeth-chattering; it’s a cold day. I still make him stand for a one hour as punishment; he deserves to be disciplined for even the small rule breaches. I watch him cringing as he shuffles his right leg.

 

 

House doesn’t let his teeth chatter the next day, even though it’s colder; see this is why I discipline him. He remains silently still in the wall chair for the entirety of the sixteen hours I leave him there. When I lead him through the nightly tests he acts so desperate to please that it would be heart-wrenching if I cared.

 

 

I tell him that because he’s been behaving so well Kelly is coming to look after him tomorrow while I run some errands. He smiles at me with gratitude; he likes Kelly. When I’m going out and he’s behaved badly I just leave him alone tied to a chair all day (I’ve come back twice to find he’s pissed himself).

 

 

Five months ago I chose Kelly to be House’s part-time carer because she’s enough of a selfish bitch that if the pay-checks are large enough she’ll overlook pretty much anything her charge is being subjected too. It’s not like I can’t afford it. I think her kindness towards him is her way of compensating for being such a bitch. 

  
I pick up the phone and dial Kelly’s number to re-confirm the arrangements for tomorrow. The bubbling inside me that I’ve banished to the background, lies silent for once.


	3. Chapter 3

I knock on the door and Doctor Wilson calls for me to come in.

 

“Kelly, how are you?” He greets me with his charming smile.

 

“I’m good, what time will you be back?” I ask.

 

“Not until around eight this evening.” He replies. I sometimes wonder whether he’s just giving House a break from himself. I often wonder what he was like before Amber died; he seems like he’s split into two halves, the before and the after. I’ve seen him handle House gently with delicate care and also handle him more brutally than I can imagine one human treating another. I’m always shocked by how much weight House has lost.

 

“You did this?” I ask, noticing how beaten up House is.

 

“He fell over.” He says nonchalantly, I raise an eyebrow.

 

“If you’re not more careful, you’re going to get caught.” I say; two parts warning and one part threat. He just shrugs.

 

“I managed to cover up the whole Russell incident just fine, that’s the great thing about being a doctor. Anyway I’ve got to go. See you.”

 

“Yeh, later.”

 

Once Dr Wilson has left I turn to House. He’s wearing that pathetic excuse for a top again.

 

“Come on; let’s get you into something decent.” I say getting him out of his wall chair and leading him into his bedroom. I put a blue shirt on him. He grins at me. The smile I return is weak, as a result of seeing the state he’s in. I think for the millionth time that I should go to the cops, but I have my reasons for not doing so. I let Dr Wilson believe my motives are purely monetary, it’s better that way.

 

I sit him on the sofa, turn on the TV and make us some pancakes. House really looks bad today. I make a mental note to look at the recent tapes; I hid secret camera’s and bugs in here months ago; plenty of evidence if the cops ever need it. It’s disturbing how intriguing I find the tapes; but so much of Dr Wilson’s behaviour is inexplicable.

 

When it comes to some things Dr Wilson is always incredibly gentle; even on his most sadistic of days. And when I say most sadistic days this is Dr Wilson shelling out major abuse for even tiny slights; once House looked away from the wall momentarily because of a sudden noise outside and the doctor responded by bringing a belt down on him ten times.

 

Dr Wilson always urges House out of bed softly, as though he’s a small child. Sometimes House just turns over, outright ignoring him. The first time I saw this I was sure Dr Wilson would seriously hurt House for the blatant disobedience but he completely ignored it and continued to gently coax House out of the bed. I wonder if this is a glimpse of what he was like before.

 

It’s the same with House’s baths. He always slowly dips House’s hand in the water first and asks him if the temperature is ok. House will usually nod and let Wilson slowly lower him into the bath on the specially installed seat. There was one time House had recoiled from the water cradling his hand as though it had been burned.

 

“Cold.” He’d whimpered. I’d fully expected Dr Wilson to just chuck him in the water and by the way House was helplessly clawing at the locked bathroom door, I think he expected it too. What I didn’t expect was for Dr Wilson to just unlock the door for him, and after some panicked limping he ended up huddled in a corner of the living room. Dr Wilson just sat down next to him silently.

 

“Looks like the hot water isn’t working.” Wilson said soothingly. He then proceeded to repeatedly boil water in the kettle and pour it into the bath until he got the water to the right temperature. It’s honestly the most effort I’ve seen him put into taking care of House. But of course House didn’t want to go anywhere near the bathroom. By the time Dr Wilson convinced him otherwise the water had cooled down, not by a lot, but enough to put House off getting in. So he boiled some more and tried again, eventually succeeding. All of which was done with a lot more patience than I would’ve had.

 

It seems as though House has some form of hydrophobia, and I wonder why Dr Wilson never took advantage of this weakness, the way he enjoys doing so with House’s leg. He’s an odd one.

 

I feed House his pancakes as I natter on about life, the universe and everything. We watch TV for a couple of hours, and then House asks me to read to him; “book”. I look through my bag to see what I’ve got with me today, it’s always difficult to find something that’s simple enough for him to understand but not patronizingly childish. I frown at an Alex Rider paperback (it’ll have to do).

 

He lays his head on my lap and smiles as I read. I leave him playing with a ball and listening to The Who as I make lunch. I make quite a big meal; I try to get as much nutrition into him as I can while I’m here. I also manage to find some mint choc-chip ice-cream.

 

A while after eating House asks “Out?”

 

“You want to go outside?” I clarify. He nods. Dr Wilson knows I feed House and let him watch TV etc, and doesn’t pay much attention. But he never let’s House go outside and I’m worried about what he might do to House if he finds out I did.

 

“No. Sorry.” I answer.

 

“Please?”

 

“I told you, no.” I look at his face and fill with guilt. I’m guessing it’s been months since he’s been out of the house.

 

“Don’t tell Wilson ok?” I say firmly.

 

“Ok.”

 

“You understand, you can’t tell him anything about being outside, or anything you did when outside.”

 

“No...tell.” House replies nodding. So I agree.

 

I wrap him up warm with a woolly jumper and coat. I even manage to find his old cane under Dr Wilson’s bed, it has amusing flames painted on the lower end and again I find myself wondering who House was before all this. I also think about the odd placement of the cane before I remember that this used to be House’s room. That was before the Russell incident.

 

Russell had raped and severely beaten House. He’d ended up with three cracked ribs, a broken right wrist, a fractured left arm and serious rectal tearing (I’ve still got no idea how Dr Wilson managed to cover that up, he tells me he’s been in the medical business a long time and knows people who will do surgeries on the down low; it’s unbelievable).

 

Anyway afterwards House had refused to go back into his bedroom and had squirreled himself away in Dr Wilson’s bed, refusing to leave. I remember him hugging and sniffing Dr Wilson’s covers for comfort. After a couple of days Wilson just switched all of their things into each other’s rooms. House hadn’t left the bed for a week and for once Dr Wilson made sure House had everything he needed. The guilt had been coming off him in rolls; but that hadn’t lasted long and by the end of the month they were back into their destructive routine.

 

I decide to drive to the park. As soon as we step out the door his eyes brighten and I know I’m doing the right thing. We walk around the park and House begins to walk up to trees curiously stroking them and sniffing them. I ask him if he’s going to hug the tree and he looks at me like I’m crazy, I chuckle.

 

He starts chucking twigs at people and laughing. I didn’t even know he was capable of laughter. Luckily his aim is rubbish and none of them actually hits anyone. We lay in the grass for a bit before heading back.

 

Alarm bells immediately start ringing when the front door refuses to give. I can’t have locked it; I don’t have a key. And yet it’s not opening. Suddenly it swings open to reveal Dr Wilson.

 

“Well this is interesting.” He says with a cold smile on his face.


	4. Chapter 4

I’m not actually surprised when I get home and find the house empty. About a week or so ago House had started crowing again about going out- I convinced him to stop asking by force-feeding him a few spoonfuls of curry powder. I’m surprised by my lack of anger at this turn of events. The bubbling thing is back again but this time instead of pushing to break free, it’s calming me; it’s a manipulative little fucker. I should be furious; and yet I’m not. All it would take is for the wrong person to spot House, notice the condition he’s in and inform the authorities. I hear someone fiddling with the door and head to open it.

 

“Well this is interesting.” I say smiling at the two of them, I quickly usher House inside and then before Kelly can protest I shut the door in her face. Which of course results in her repeatedly banging on it; I can’t risk causing a scene so I let her in.

 

“Look, this whole thing was my idea, in fact he was even reluctant to come along.” She says trying to sound more embarrassed than nervous.

 

“Do you really expect me to buy that?” I ask raising an eyebrow.

 

“Yes, because it’s the truth.”

 

“Well if that’s all you have to say, I think it’s time for you to go.”

 

“No, I’m not leaving you alone with him.”

 

“Kelly, you really don’t want to get on my bad side, don’t think I haven’t noticed there’s no record of you anywhere before you were 25, wouldn’t want me to go digging around would you?” I threaten coldly. She sighs staring at the floor and then walks towards House.

 

\----

 

I sigh staring at the floor as I walk towards House. My life before isn’t a big secret; when Dr Wilson finds out the words will probably be coming from my own mouth. But if he finds out now it would ruin everything I’m trying to achieve.

 

“I’ll come by to check on you later.” I tell House before walking out the door.

 

\-----

 

“What am I going to do with you? You never learn do you?” I state, slowly advancing on him. He’s already shaking like a leaf. Well at least he understands the gravity of the situation. But I know that however much he deserves punishment for his actions, this isn’t the time. This is too serious an issue to just hold him to it with threats.

 

“Sit down. We need to talk about this.” I say softly, gesturing to the sofa. That manages to scare him more; it’s different and change is almost always bad. He stays standing.

 

“Sit down.” I order wrapping my fingers around his throat, I squeeze a little. He gets the message and obeys.

 

“If you go out again, I might have to leave.” I say quietly, looking into his eyes. It’s amusing that the fear in his eyes at this moment rivals that of some of my severest beatings.

 

“Don’t ...leave.” He pleads.

 

“I won’t have a choice. The police will come and take me away.” I reply and he looks bemused.

 

“Please.” He whispers, he’s moved closer and is now clinging onto my arm. There’s a lone tear running down his face.

 

“You’ll be ok; Cuddy will find someone great to look after you. She might even look after you herself, and Kelly will probably still help also.”

 

“Want...you.”

 

“Sure? You get punished a lot.”

 

 

“Sure.”

 

“Ok, you can go outside again if you want. But remember I might have to leave if you do.”

 

“Won’t...out.”

 

“Good. That’s good.” I tell him, pulling him into a hug. He hugs back and I’m surprised that someone half-starved can have a grip so strong.

 

\-----

 

 

The next day House is breaking every rule in the book. I mainly ignore it though; I know it’s a direct response to our conversation yesterday. He’s still more terrified of me leaving than he is of any punishments. He wanders around following me. I feel a little guilty; I know the idea of me leaving is too much for him to handle in his vulnerable state; but it had to be done.

 

It’s mid-afternoon before I convince him to stay in his chair.

 

I ask House to play the piano as part of my nightly checks and he freaks me out a little by repeatedly hitting a minor key. Afterwards I put him to bed. When I get up in the middle of the night to get some water I find him sitting huddled against my bedroom door. He’s obviously still feeling the need to stay close.

 

“Want to come in?” I ask gently. House shakes his head vigorously; he hasn’t been near the room since the incident with Russell.

 

“Want me to stay in your room?” I ask. He nods with enthusiasm. I take him back to bed and slide in next to him. He pulls my arm around him and I let him, holding him gently. Amber would kill me if she saw me pandering to him like this.

 

I suppose I was going to fall back into old patterns eventually; and that bloody bubbling thing isn’t helping matters, it has been suspiciously silent today. Thinking about it, it’s obvious how much it has fooled me into treating him much better than he deserves. God, Amber deserves so much better than me. What was I thinking, going easy on him? I decide to be extra hard on him tomorrow to make up for the train-wreck that was today.


	5. Chapter 5

My gentleness as I get him out of bed grates at me for the first time ever. And every fibre of my being is telling me to just fill the bath with cold water and chuck him in. But I don’t. Don’t worry Amber, we’ll get to the punishments soon enough, soon enough. There’s a cacophony of noise in my head that gives me a headache; she’s admonishing me for not harnessing this weakness.

 

The cacophony builds inside me as the thing starts bubbling in time with the bubbling from Amber; both fighting for control, both pulling me in opposite directions. The thing (the original voice) wants me to be gentler and the manifestation of Amber wants me to be harsher.

 

She wants me to chuck him in an ice-bath and revel in his screaming. I can’t, I’m sorry I just can’t do that to him; I’m weak and pathetic and you deserve better; and I’m sorry. I try to ask her why she’s been away for the last couple of weeks. She says nothing. I beg her not to ignore me; it’s bad enough not being able to hold her anymore.

 

Fine she sighs, don’t give him an ice bath, you can make it up to me later.

 

“I will. I promise.”

 

“Look how thin I’ve made him.” I tell her running my fingers over his ribs. She tells me he hasn’t lost much weight in the two weeks she’s been away. I don’t enjoy stubbing the cigarettes out on him today; it feels too much like work. I don’t even enjoy the smoking today, it tastes dreadful. I push the last cigarette in harder hoping to derive some pleasure from it; it doesn’t work.

 

I make up several new rules because he always finds it harder to stick to the new ones and Amber is getting irate. One of the new rules is that he has to hold his arms straight up in the air. As soon as he bends his right arm a little I pull him out of his chair and tell him he’s going to receive punishment for bending his arm.

 

The first punch hits his stomach hard and he collapses to the floor.

 

“Get up.” I demand. He struggles but eventually manages to stand. I deliver a harshly strong kick to his right thigh. He rolls on the floor holding his leg and screaming.

 

“Back up.” I order. His struggling increases, he falls down twice while trying to get up. I smirk at him as he finally stands, still letting out yelps of pain. After my second kick to his thigh he begins screaming at the top of his lungs.

 

“Get up.” He remains on the floor. “UP. NOW.” I shout, kicking his side. “You don’t deserve to be able to wallow.” He tries to push off of the ground, failing miserably and mewling as he falls back to it. He tries again and again.

 

“Get up or I’ll give you another punishment for disobedience.” He hurriedly tries to get up, resulting in him just battering himself against the floor repeatedly until his weak body eventually gives up. I tell him that after we’re done with this he’s getting another punishment for not obeying. I kick the lump on the floor a couple more times.

 

I push him onto his back and straddle him. He lays still; he knows compliance is the only way to end this. I shuffle resting my weight on his right thigh. He helplessly begins clawing at me, trying to get me off. I hold his wrists together. I punch his torso again and again and again. Until time seems to blur into nothingness, and all I’m doing is punching. I’m so enthralled in it that his voice begging me to stop seems to come from very far away. I get up and kick him a few more times; back, leg, stomach, chest, stomach, leg, chest, leg, leg. I give a final kick to his crotch and leave him caterwauling on the floor. Amber approves.

 

Ten minutes later I walk over to House; who’s still lying on the floor. I tell him it’s time for his second punishment. I pull him up and lay him on top of the table, resting him on his stomach. Then I get my scalpel and start carving cave-drawings into the flesh on his back. Not too deep though. Blood dribbles deliciously from the lines I’ve created. I run the scalpel across pre-existing cuts, delighting in his squeals and groans.

 

“Be quiet or I’ll add another punishment to the tally.”

 

He manages to stay quiet for two minutes before beginning to squeal again. I tell him he really doesn’t know what’s good for him and that there’ll be yet another punishment after this.

 

“Please.”

 

The bubbling inside me is working over-time pushing to break through, to gain control, but it’s weak and I’m strong, but it still hurts me when I give the only response I have;

 

“You deserve it.”

 

When I’m done I put the scalpel down and get the stuff to take care of his wounds. Amber tells me to leave them alone; hopefully infection will set in.

 

“Please, just let me clean them, and put some bandages on, I won’t even stitch them up.”

 

“Fine.” She says reluctantly. “You’re too good to him.”

 

After I take care of his wounds, I tell him his next punishment will begin soon. I think about what I could do for the next punishment. It’s been a while since I gave him burns with the poker. But Amber would probably be reluctant to let me take care of those afterwards. Belt’s out for the same reason. Poisons that would cause throwing up are out too; she probably won’t let me feed him anytime soon.

 

Finally I decide to just make him stand facing the wall for four hours (the length of time was due to Amber’s insistence). Of course the fact he can barely stand at the moment causes some hindrance. Amber says I’m being too easy on him when he collapses and I keep helping him to stand back up. Aren’t you going to add another punishment; he’s not even standing properly and he keeps leaning into the wall, she says.

 

“No. He’s had enough.”

 

“Now he’s just being lazy and leaning against the wall completely; he’s taking the mick, and you’re falling for it like you always do.”

 

“He’s terrified of getting another punishment and he’s still leaning against the wall. He’s exhausted and he’s been standing there for three hours. Come on House, you can sit now.” I say leading him to a chair.

 

“WHAT are you doing, it’s NOT EVEN four hours yet!!”

 

“I’m sorry; I promise I’ll make it up to you later. But he needs some rest.”

 

“It better be something big.”

 

“It will be.”

 

He sits in his chair silently giving me a questioning look. I wonder what the look is for. My shortening a punishment doesn’t usually happen. But then he doesn’t know what time it is, so doesn’t know I shortened it. Maybe he can’t see Amber and thinks I’m talking to myself.

 

 

I watch him over the next hour. His complete exhaustion is written into every line of his wiry frame as he hunches silently.

 

“Stop moving.” I tell him as he fidgets in his chair, there’s a nervous tone in my voice as I try to hide his indiscretions from Amber. The thought itself makes me furious. I’ve always had to cover for House; fight for him with every one of my wives. And now I have to do it with my dead girlfriend whose death was his fault. Forget it; he broke the rules he’s getting punished.

 

I make him stand for another half hour before sitting him back into his chair. He’s only been sitting there for around ten minutes when there’s a knock at the door. I look at my watch, it’s 7.20pm; a bit late for salespeople. I tell House not to make a sound as I walk to the door. I decide to keep the chain attached as I open the door; that way no one can see House.

 

I’m stunned by the person standing there; I really didn’t expect to see him again. It’s Russell.


	6. Chapter 6

I immediately try to slam the door in his face. He responds by trying to shove it open, thankfully the chain stops him from getting very far.

 

“What do you want?”

 

“Business is a little slow, thought I’d come by to play.”

 

At the sound of Russell’s voice House topples his chair and hobbles across the room in a panic. He’s amazingly fast considering how worn out he is. I’m torn between wanting to go to calm him down and standing sentry at the door; Russell’s the sort of guy who’s not beyond breaking the flimsy door-chain. I stay at the door.

 

“Get lost.”

 

“Great thing about playing with retards is they can’t go to the cops.”

 

“I can though.”

 

“Yeh, and I suppose you’re going to tell them all about the burns and starving too?”

 

“Why are you here, I’m obviously not going to let you in.”

 

House is trembling and whimpering. I try to close the door again; futilely.

 

“I think you will let me in; that is if you don’t want the cops finding out about everything you’re doing here.”

 

“What good will telling the cops do you; you’ll probably end up in jail too.”

 

“I doubt it; you’re the carer, you’re the one with 24 hour access to him; it shouldn’t be too hard to pin what I did on you, with everything else already in the basket.”

 

“You still won’t have access to him.”

 

“Don’t really care; there’s plenty retards out there, this is just more convenient. I’ll make the call just to spite you.”

 

“There’s nothing stopping you from going to the cops even if I do let you in.”

 

“Sure there is; if I don’t go to the cops I’ll be able to stop by again.”

 

“What would you do?”

 

“It’ll be over in a few minutes. Come on, you’re the one who said he deserves whatever he gets. How unfair would it be if you ended up in jail for giving him what he deserves. Not to mention ending up in jail for some absurd act of undeserved protection.”

 

Ambers voice bubbles violently inside me, the man makes a good point.

 

I sigh; “Come in.”


	7. Chapter 7

The thing that has been a long time dormant bubbles up through me and oddly this time I can’t shove it back down. It shoots through me like a rocket and forcefully takes control.

 

\-----

 

 

I slam the door behind Russell and shove him up against it, holding my meagre pen-knife at his throat. I take a second to revel in grasping control for the first time in months, before continuing.

 

“If you ever come anywhere near him again, I will personally kill you. That’s a promise.”

 

I’m apparently more convincing than I feel because I can see the fear flicker in Russell’s eyes. Before I know it I’ve pinned him to the floor and am punching the living daylights out of him. But he’s much bigger than me and the struggle that ensues is precarious. My arms burn as they push against his, unmoving. I manage a good kick but Russell doesn’t seem fazed. Pretty soon I’m writhing underneath him. He grins as he runs his free hand down my body until it lands on my zipper. Russell undoes my pants, and shoves them down a bit revealing my boxers. It’s absurd but all I can think about is what he’ll do to House when he’s done with me.

 

“House! Get out of here!”

 

He’s whimpering somewhere but I can’t see him. I have to get away. The fucking psycho bites down on my shoulder as I try to throw him off me. I try to catch him by surprise but nothing works, his strong muscles hold me firmly. I yell (still struggling fruitlessly) as he moves his hand into my boxers.

 

Smash. Suddenly Russell slides off, collapsing beside me. I look around surprised. My eyes fall on House standing by me with a broken chair in his hands. I smile at him, stunned.

 

I tie Russell up and put him in the trunk of my car. Then I sit House in the passenger seat and drive around until I find a place to dump Russell.

 

When we get home House and I curl up on the sofa, he pulls me into a strong embrace and I hold him, we take comfort from each other. I shut out the voice in my head telling me he doesn’t deserve my comfort, I push it back down as it tries to bubble back up to the surface; it’s been in control for far too long. I’m back now and I’m not being relegated again to the position of helplessly watching the monster use my body to abuse my best friend.

 

“I’m never letting anyone hurt you again.” I whisper softly, he smiles at me with so much trust that I feel dreadful. I try to ignore the bubbles in the background trying to re-emerge.


	8. Chapter 8

I smile dryly as I wake him the next day. Now I get to work on making things better. I chortle to myself as I ease him into the bath; I may not have been in control but I had really been able to manipulate myself at times; I’d made sure this was one thing that wasn’t used to torture him. I feel ashamed for every beating I couldn’t stop, but at least I had done some things. However insignificant they may’ve seemed.

 

I ask House if he’d like to go out for breakfast. He could use the fresh air. He just gives me a look of fear. I re-assure him that everything will be ok. Once House gets comfortable with the idea he gets quite excited, even though some ambivalence remains. When I ask him where he’d like to go he looks petrified; as though an incorrect answer will have dire consequences. I make a mental note to stop asking unnecessary questions and pick a diner House used to like.

 

I feel like ten shades of bastard as I zip House into the body-suit; hiding the evidence of what he did. Or what I did, if I’m honest with myself. But I can’t exactly take House out looking like he does. The drive is quick and pretty soon a waitress called Michelle is showing us to our booth. I flirt with her a little; it’s good to be free again.

 

I gaze at the menu; I already know what my order is but finding something House will both like and be able to digest (after the lack of substantial food) is difficult. One of the waitresses walk past us with a tray of milkshakes; a snack for the teens in the corner who’ve clearly been out all night. House’s eyes light up as he sees the shakes topped with whipped cream, a couple of berries, a twirly straw and a little umbrella.

 

When Michelle comes over I order a banana milkshake and a chocolate milkshake. I’ll have whichever one House decides he doesn’t want (he likes chocolate but it looks quite dull and I don’t want him to be disappointed, he’d probably enjoy the colourfulness of the banana, but I’m pretty sure he won’t like the taste).

 

His expression is filled with surprised excitement and overjoyed delight when the milkshakes are placed in front of him. It fills me with warmth. But he doesn’t take a single sip and over the next five minutes his joy gradually fades into disappointment.

 

I feel like a failure; I must have done something wrong; he’s so easy to please these days. Vines of Guilt entwine my lungs, constricting, I take deep breaths. I consider what could be wrong. He can’t really eat without help but I know he can drink through a straw on his own without any problem, so that’s not it. I feel sick to my stomach when I realise what it is; he thought he was just being forced to look at it and wasn’t going to be allowed to drink it.

 

“House, you don’t need my permission to eat anymore.” I say quietly, he just looks confused.

 

“Here.” I say gently placing the straw between his lips. The joy springs back to his face almost instantly and I ponder how different this person is from the old House- both very child-like but in very different ways. House slurps down the shake quickly, getting milkshake on his nose; I chuckle and wipe it with a napkin.

 

After we’ve finished our milkshakes and our food, I drive around for a bit. House gazes longingly at a park, so I pull-over and we walk through the gate. We spend a few hours there and after limping around for a bit House ends up sitting quietly on a swing, playing with a leaf. I mention that we should go home and have lunch. His eyes become dull and he nods obediently; I know he believes punishment awaits him at home (though I have no idea what imaginary slight he thinks he has committed). I sigh; trying to push away the suffocating Guilt; we’ll just have to take this one step at a time.

 

“Nobody’s going to hurt you.” I whisper firmly. He just nods obediently again. I try again but nothing works. He sits completely still and silently in the car. When we get home I sit him on the sofa with one of his shows on the TV so I can cook.

 

“No more punishments.” I repeat to him as he gives me yet another confused look. I know if I repeat it enough, he’ll begin to get it.

 

Fear lingers in his eyes as I feed House his meal; he hasn’t been allowed two meals in one day for a very long time. The change scares him. His fear is beginning to mirror my Guilt; maybe they’ll dance a macabre dance together for the rest of time.

 

The afternoon goes surprisingly smoothly. We don’t do much; House seems to want to laze around. We watch a couple of movies, and attempt to play some board-games, I just watch House roll the dice and move his counter to some entirely random position. It seems pointless as all he’s doing is rolling his dice and moving his counter (forwards/backwards/up/down), but he’s enjoying it so we keep playing. As I fall prey to a snake and he unknowingly beats me for the third time in a row I wonder whether he knows more than he’s letting on.

 

He finds an old video game, and tries to play, becoming upset as ‘game over’ keeps flashing onto the screen. I hook up the PSP, and find a game we can play together as oppose to against each other. He delights in the flashing lights and winning ‘next level’ sounds as he randomly hits buttons and I break out into a sweat as I work doubly hard to keep us both alive.

 

But he becomes afraid again towards evening time. I call and ask Kelly to come around; he feels safe with her. Unfortunately she’s not available, so I calm him down myself. I tell him that no-one is going to hurt him or punish him anymore. I think maybe this time he understands.

 

At bed-time House smiles at me as I tuck him in, I smile back, and he says one soft word; thank...you.

 

I lie in bed, thinking about the restless stirring of unwanted demons. However anyone puts it, everything that happened to House was my fault, my doing. It is a part of me, a part of me that I wanted to stop, but a part of me nonetheless.

 

I didn’t just fail to stay in control; I actively let it take control, and then couldn’t get the control back. I still remember the first day I let it takeover so clearly, I was still struggling with fresh grief- for my girlfriend and for my best friend, struggling with having to do everything for House, and struggling with guilt. When the snap came I welcomed it, I wanted to be looked after for once, let someone else run the show for a while.

 

I’d encouraged this thing, this part of me that needed something else, something different. I’d nurtured this thing inside me that had abused him for months on end. Of course it had started out small, seemingly innocuous occurrences, and I even enjoyed the temporary relief from them. And then the occurrences grew more sinister and more sinister still, until I was nothing more than a voice in the background, manipulating shadows where I could.

 

Yet again I’m saying I was in the background and I wonder how I can be in so much denial, it was me, whatever anything seemed like it was, it was all me. And I deserve to feel every bit of the Guilt I’m feeling and must shed this shell of denial. And yet I still don’t; I still can’t; I still can’t associate that monster with me.

 

I make a firm decision; I’ll do whatever I have to, to protect House, even if that means protecting him from me.


	9. Kelly

My mind is already racing as I put the phone back down. Dr Wilson has just called and asked me to look after House for a couple of hours, I told him I couldn’t (I’m taking care of Mrs Cranberry tonight and her daughter Celine gets too little time out as it is). The request isn’t odd; I often get last minute calls asking me to look after someone- it was the tone of his voice that got me thinking. And also what he was saying. He seemed concerned.

 

It could be yet another one of the oddities that is James Wilson. But my intuition tells me it isn’t; something is different; something has changed. I should do more research to confirm this; I’ll have to watch the tapes tonight before I go to bed. If now is the right time for me to begin my (rather half-baked) plans then I don’t want to miss it. Really, I just want to help Dr Wilson, even though that doesn’t seem like a sane option at this point.

 

 

I think about implementing my plan. Yet again, I consider whether I should come clean right at the beginning or wait a while, waiting will probably work better. The reason there’s no record of me before I was twenty-five is because Kelly Gordon didn’t exist until then. I changed my name; I wasn’t running from anything, I just wanted to leave my childhood in the past, all of my four siblings did, it’s just that me and my little sister were the only ones who succeeded. After I changed my name, I changed who I was and I changed my life. There’s a lot to be said about a name. My old name was Anita. Anita Volakis.


	10. Before I drown

The next few days go by in pretty much the same way, with House getting jittery every now and then. But after about a week, a new morning suddenly brings new challenges. House has by now realised that in some way things are different, and he’s really started testing the boundaries. The thing is I’m feeling too guilty to actually keep any boundaries. Hell, I’m even feeling guilty for trying to suppress my guilt. I should have to feel all of it- after everything that has happened.

 

I try to just go with the flow, even if the flow is very chaotic and he’s running rings round me. At least he seems to be having fun. He complains about his leg for the third time today, I look at my watch and cringe but give him some more vicodin anyway. Apparently my Guilt has chosen to disregard the health of his liver. House asks for more pain-killers not long after and I begin to get suspicious, I refuse and he looks crestfallen, I almost buckle but I’m responsible for him and that includes stopping him from killing himself.

 

Later as I’m changing the bed-sheets my suspicions are confirmed; he’s been hoarding vicodin. Hidden under his pillow is a little pouch filled with pills, suggesting he has barely had any because he’s so worried about getting pain relief in the future. “Oh House” I mutter under my breath with anguish. I go and hug him because I don’t know what else to do.

 

He flits about me playfully as I cook lunch. At first it’s quite amusing and I enjoy mucking about with him but after a while it starts seriously disrupting my cooking. I try to distract him with something else but he’s determined to stay here with me. I just ignore him and continue cooking. Somehow he manages to knock over a jar on a shelf, which in turn dislodges a hanging ladle, said ladle falls into one of the pans and I shriek as my forearms are splattered with boiling water.

 

“Sorry...sorry.” House cries.

 

“It’s ok, see its fine.” I say running my hands under the tap. Frustration fills me as I have to look after his upset instead of concentrating on my fresh injury. Before I realise it that monstrous thing is bubbling to the surface again. Oh, crap, crap, crap. Take a deep breath, calm down, stay in control. I stand rigid fighting to push it back into the recesses of my mind. Just as I feel as though I’m being pulled under the water I manage to find solid ground. I tremble slightly as I shove the monster back down to the dark depths of the ocean.

 

I sigh, that was way too close, I thought I could handle this but if things carry on like this the monster will probably regain control eventually, everything’s eventual. I can’t take that risk. I know what I have to do; turn myself in.

 

I call Cuddy and ask her if she can look after House for a couple of hours and she agrees to look after him this evening. I’ll go to the station after I’ve dropped him off. It’s for the best; I know it’s for the best. And yet I still feel like I’m abandoning him, I want to stick around and clear up this awful mess I’ve made. There’s also the issue of me surviving in jail, it’s a scary thought but nothing I don’t deserve.

 

I eat slowly, savouring all the tastes and textures, trying to quell the sense of impending doom. House eats quickly, shoving every piece of chicken into his mouth as soon as I cut it up for him. I want to postpone telling him until later, let him be happy for now. But I think it’s probably better to give him some time to digest the idea, before I ship him off to Cuddy.

 

So I sit him on the sofa after lunch and tell him we have to talk to him about something important.

 

“I have to go away soon. I won’t be back for a very long time.” I say slowly trying to gauge his level of understanding.

 

“No ...please.” He pleads. I gulp to stop the lump in my throat from exploding and squeeze the bridge of my nose; I have to stay strong here.

 

“Everything will be great, I promise. And you like spending time with Cuddy don’t you?”

 

“Jimmy...sorry.” House blubbers, looking at my arms. I have to blink repeatedly and bite my lip to stop myself from tearing up. I pull him towards me and hold him.

 

“None of this is your fault House. You haven’t done anything wrong.” I say firmly.

 

“Stay.”

 

“I’m sorry House, I can’t. I’m so sorry for everything; you didn’t deserve any of what happened to you, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I caused you pain and caused you fear. You’re going to be safe now, I’m so sorry that I have to leave you for that, but I do. I know it doesn’t change anything but I am sorry.” I babble, and then realise House hasn’t really understood any of it as he just gives me a confused frown.

 

I tilt his head so I’m looking into his eyes and I take his hand in mine.

 

“House. I’m sorry.” I say quietly with sincerity. House looks at me with surprise. Then there is a spark in his eyes and I know he understands me, understands everything I’m referring to. We give each other a meaningful look and for a moment he seems like the man he once was. We hold the gaze unwilling to let the moment end. The tears rolling down my cheeks go unnoticed until House messily wipes them away.

 

We sit beside each other in silence. Savouring the time we have left together. House is still unhappy about the situation but I think he understands why I have to leave. He asks me to read to him, I get a book and put an arm around House as he cuddles up against me. After I finish the story, I read him another and another.

 

Afterwards we make milkshakes, with House getting whipped cream, sprinkles, and chocolate sauce everywhere (I’d gotten a variety of milkshake stuff from the store after seeing House’s reaction to the shakes at the diner). I smile as he puts some cream on my nose and he giggles. At that my smile widens; I can honestly say in all the years I’ve known him I have never before heard him genuinely giggle.

 

We drink our rather haphazardly made shakes while watching an episode of ‘prescription passion’. It’s ironic that the same properties that House enjoyed the sheer ridiculousness of now make it easier for him to understand it, i.e. the cheesy overly-dramatic dialogue, the cheesy overly-dramatic gestures, and the cheesy overly-dramatic pauses between sentences.

 

Prescription passion melts into another soap which drifts into a made for TV movie about two kids who were switched at birth. And House and I are still lounging around on the sofa. Despite only having two hours before I have to drop House off and turn myself in, I’m feeling quite relaxed- which is probably how it manages to sneak up on me so well.

 

All of a sudden the monster is taking control again, I struggle but I feel as though I’m fighting a losing battle, trying to tread water with two broken legs. I only have one choice. I grab the phone and begin to dial. But the monster pulls me under the water and the phone falls to the sofa. I manage to pull myself back up but am just about managing to keep my head above the water, I can’t move at all. All I can do is try to fix things before I drown.

 

I stare at the phone and the 91 on the screen glares back at me maliciously. I try to move again but I’m too busy keeping my head from sinking underwater.

 

“House! Press the one, on the phone.” I gasp out. House looks at me questioningly and holds up one finger.

 

“Yes. One. The button... on the phone... with a one on it.” The water is rising, suffocating; I just need to hold on for a little bit longer.

 

House just points to a button on his shirt.

 

“On the phone... one, on the phone.” Come on, come on, just a little longer. He stares at the phone and picks it up.

 

“Yes... good... now press one.” I say as the monster finally pulls me into watery darkness.


	11. Amber

I watch the recent tapes and Dr Wilson is a completely different person to the one I’ve seen looking after House. I’m guessing this is the man that Amber fell in love with. Amber and I had been estranged for years before she came to work at PPTH. We would nod courteously towards each other in the hospital corridors, say the odd hello, but nothing more, we had an understanding, and we were both determined to keep our past in the past.

 

But she was still my sister, and a fascinating creature –a diamond grown out of the dirt- add that to the tantalising glass display case she worked in and I suppose it was inevitable that I began to watch her. I thought she never noticed but looking back at it things I think she did; she never did let much get past her.

 

After all the shit our childhoods spewed out, Amber was the only one who really came out strong, she still had plenty of rough edges, but still. No one will ever know or understand how much of an achievement it was for her to just be the person she was. She commanded respect and deemed that superior to ever being liked. Watching her through the glass that day as she told House she’d found someone to both love and respect her I felt myself fill with joy.

 

I don’t think Dr Wilson will ever realise what he gave her or how much he helped her. But I do realise it and that’s part of the reason I’m trying to help him, and trying to sort out this mess. It’s amazing that Amber got to the point where she would leave in the middle of the night to fetch someone she didn’t really care about. This life has made us all rather selfish. Maybe it was for the best that she died at her peak, before Dr Wilson could do something stupid and ruin it all for her. That being said he’s ruining it now. Tarnishing her memory with his abhorrent behaviour, for which at some point- when the time is right –I’ll bash him over the head for.

 

When I heard that Amber was dying, a part of me grieved for her, but a larger part of me grieved for the loss of hope. Amber made us all see that we could rise above what was and create endless possibilities. It seemed like an endlessly cruel full-stop, telling us all that that wasn’t the case. It would give our other siblings the carte blanche they needed to spiral down even further; until they reach the very bottom of the abyss.

 

I remember that day so vividly, entering the room where my sister lay already dead but still alive. Dr Wilson thought I was just another random orderly coming to say goodbye, Amber didn’t tell him otherwise, so I didn’t either. If our hug lasted a few seconds longer than everyone else’s he didn’t notice. Nor did he hear the words she whispered in my ear.

 

“Take care of him.”


	12. Counterpart

House holds the phone in his hands as though it was a baby, his hand hesitantly reaches towards the buttons as though he’s afraid he might wake it. I’m sitting somewhere far away from myself; it doesn’t mesh with my concept of space.

 

I watch in horror as the monster grabs the phone out of House’s hand, that elusive last one going un-pressed. My hand betrays me yet again, dialling Cuddy’s number, cancelling the plans. I feel my body turn towards House and I’m immediately terrified for him.

 

“I’m not even going to try to count all the rules you’ve broken in the last few days.” He says in a coldly quiet tone. House just looks confused. He tells House there will be a lot of punishments to make up for the last few days. House is still just sitting there with a bemused expression. I wonder how much he’s doing this to punish House, and how much it is to punish me. If it is partly to punish me it gives self-flagellation a whole new meaning.

 

I push against the tonnes of water surrounding me, I’ve broken through once, I should be able to again. As usual it’s useless though: I’m trying to beat an army of machine guns and warheads and all I have is a little broken catapult. I cringe as he takes his (my) belt in his (my) hands, the leather feels like cold sadism rotting my palms.

 

I still feel bizarrely hollow as words I’m not saying leave my mouth- as he orders House to bend over the table. But for once House doesn’t submissively obey; he fights back. Despite House’s limited mobility he puts up a good struggle: he flails and whacks me repeatedly as my treacherous body kicks and punches him viciously. I fill with delight at the pain of him biting down on my arm. Before long we’re rolling around on the floor, each temporarily gaining control in turn. I zone out as the fight continues: I don’t want to have to see House’s inevitable defeat.

 

I’m very impressed with House, I knew he had progressed in the last few months but I didn’t realise how far. I’ve noticed many little things my other self has not. One example being the night he got up to sleep against my door, when he obviously managed to unlock his bedroom door on his own, turning an extra knob may seem small but it’s just another of many things (both mental and physical) he was incapable of before, all forming a bigger picture. His managing to break the chair over Russell- in spite of everything -speaks for itself.

 

But this, this is definitely new. I suppose the few days out of this environment gave him the strength and confidence to fight back. It’s reminiscent of the first days when he was beaten, back when his spirit was strong and he fought back completely disregarding his poor motor-skills, he would always be over-powered within a matter of seconds. Over the last few months his motor-skills have been slowly improving, but I never would’ve guessed that he would’ve been able to continue battling for this long.

 

I try to creep up on myself, considering that his weaponry is currently concentrated on another enemy, a sneak ambush may force him to relinquish control. It doesn’t work; he instantaneously forces me back into the darkness of the trenches, but at least it gives House a chance to get away for a moment and reload.

 

House makes a mad dash for the front door, stopping when he reaches it to figure out how to get it open. He’s just managed to open it when my hand slams it shut again right on his fingers. House howls in agony, and I feel my arms roughly shove him to the floor. I send out a silent plea to myself to be gentle, hoping he won’t realise it’s not coming from himself- luckily its one of the occasions that it actually works and he sits House on the sofa to tend to his hand. My silent messages don’t seem to really work for preventing punishments, but they’re ok for dealing with the aftermath. Amazingly his fingers aren’t broken just badly bruised. But the injury has clearly knocked the fight out of him, for now anyway.

 

“You do realise you’ve just thrown away any chance you had of getting a meal in the next three days.” I hear my voice say maliciously. House just shrugs. This angers my other self further and I feel my teeth grinding.

 

“Go and bend over the table and I might reconsider.”

 

House continues to sit there stubbornly, and as happy as House standing up for himself makes me, the price he’ll have to pay for his actions scares me shitless. For some reason I’m walking away, to get something I presume, I realise what when I see the steel handcuffs. My other self pins House’s hands behind his back with brute force, fastening the cuffs so they’re harshly tight around his wrists, pinching into the skin. House winces and squirms protesting his battered hand being so viciously manhandled. He then clamps his mouth shut refusing to allow the gag to be fastened into it. He receives a squeeze to his injured hand for his efforts, at which he howls again and the gag is slid against his tongue.

 

Fearing more violence towards his hand he slowly shuffles over to the table. As he reaches the table his upper body is roughly bashed down onto it, he manages to turn his head just in time to avoid impact with his nose. House’s eyes widen fearfully as he spots the scissors, mine would widen too if I had control of them. Fortunately they’re just being used to swiftly cut his t-shirt off of him, to avoid having to undo and redo the cuffs.

 

House receives a couple more squeezes to his badly bruised hand as his trousers are undone. My counterpart steps back to admire his work. In just a few short minutes he’s vanquished the disobedient stubbornness and left the trembling waif of a few days ago in its place. I’m forced to stare at this pitiful creature, his trousers around his ankles and his underwear around his knees somehow make it all the more awful, showing a body of past scars in all their glory. He remains firmly pressed against the table- he doesn’t dare to lift any part of himself even a millimetre off of it; this and his desperately quiet quivering make me want to cry and scream and punch a wall. I try to focus every fibre of my being on re-taking control. It doesn’t work.

 

“I’m going to unfasten the gag for a little while, are you going to make any noise?”

 

House shakes his head vigorously, hoping to convey complete compliance. The gag is removed.

 

“I’m going to ask you a question. And you’re going to give me a good answer, understand?”

 

 

House bites his lip for a couple of seconds before nodding eagerly.

 

“For everything you’ve done over the last few days, how many lashes do you deserve?”

 

“None?” House whispers, pleading for leniency that we both know he’ll never get.

 

“No, I want a much better answer than that. Maybe you need some incentive, give me a number close to the amount of lashes I’m thinking of and I’ll reduce the amount I give you, how’s that?”

 

House just stares blankly, understanding none of the bargain that has been laid before him. My counterpart knows he doesn’t understand, but I think that’s the point.

 

“On the other hand, if your number is far away, you get more lashes.”

 

House understands the ‘get more lashes’ bit and starts panicking.

 

“Just give me a number.”

 

“Ten?”

 

“Hmm, ten is a good number, I was thinking a bit higher, but I may be convinced to stick to ten if you ask nicely.”

 

House gives him (me) a questioning look.

 

“Ask me to give you ten lashes, nicely.”

 

“Ten...please.”

 

“Do it better than that.”

 

“Ten... lashes... ...please.”

 

“Good, that’s good. Ten lashes it is.”

 

The gag is once again fastened into his mouth. I watch every muffled cry and anguished flinch helplessly as the belt is   
repeatedly brought down on his bare buttocks and back. The fifth lash lands on his injured hand and the resulting scream- though muffled by the gag –is so horrendous that I long for the ground to swallow me up, where’s a good earth-quake when you need one?

 

The sixth lash lands over a couple of previous lashes and a line of blood runs across House’s ass. I need to hurl. The seventh lash is upon his right thigh, and he collapses onto the floor, trying to curl into the foetal position as much as possible with his hands cuffed behind him, and he helplessly tries to grab hold of his leg. After a couple of minutes House is dragged back up. Fortunately the bastard that is me decides to give House an ounce of what he deems mercy, and the remaining three lashes are landed on areas that aren’t so vulnerable.

 

House’s hands are un-cuffed and the gag once more removed. He cradles his hand fearfully. We get the supplies to tend to his wounds.

 

My counterpart re-dresses House and then gets another chair from the kitchen to put facing the wall. Damn chairs, I should’ve burned them all when I had the chance. Much to my relief and frustration, House sits there obediently for the next two hours and then my counterpart decides to put him to bed.

 

As my counterpart tucks House in, he looks at us, with his eyes filled with hurt and betrayal. I know the look is for me, not my other self. I wonder if anyone has ever been killed by their own guilt.

 

“No pun’shments.” House says, mirroring what I’ve said to him every night for the last few days.

 

I know. I’m sorry.


	13. House

Like it here. In the safe-and-warm. Dark is bad but cuddly covers are cuddly. Don’t like mean Jimmy. Said no pun’shments. Then said no pun’shments. Then also said no pun’shments. Then was pun’shment. It hurted me, I din’t like it. It’s ok. Did hide and seek with no-pain and Jimmy. I get little bag with tiny white no-pain in it. Swallow, yuck, yuck. Swallow, yuck, yuck.

 

Like it in safe-and-warm. Here Jimmy nice, no yell, no hurt, gentle, soft put me in bed. Gentle soft take me out bed. Good, stay in safe-and-warm. But must leave safe-and-warm. When pain goes must go. Jimmy said no food. Must leave safe-and-warm, get food. But very scared. Only left safe-and-warm once with no Jimmy, went sleep by Jimmy’s door.

 

Pain gone, time leave. Go steal food. I try no be bad, steal food very bad. Am very scared. Get out covers. Got to open door. Turn turn-thing, turn turn-thing. Noise bad, shush no make noise turn-thing. Turn other turn-thing. Don’t want to leave safe-and-warm. Try no be bad, but always pun’shment, pun’shment. No pun’shment in safe-and-warm. Door opens.

 

Why I be bad, steal food? Jimmy said me deserve pun’shment, me believe him. But Jimmy said me no deserve pun’shment, me believe him more. Can’t fight Jimmy, Jimmy strong. But can secret fight Jimmy. So go steal food. Not scared, not scared, not scared. Step out of safe-and-warm.

 

Careful, careful, careful. No Jimmy find me, please no, please no. In kitchen find shiny thing to put in little hole. Shiny thing in little hole, no work, no work. Move shiny thing, push, no work. Bash, bash, bash. Shiny thing in hole, turn, turn, turn. Open. Open, open, get food quick. Chocolate! Yum! Chocolate at back, pull chocolate.

 

Everything falls. Crash. Crash. Loud and messy. Shush, shush. Jimmy comes. Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no.

 

“What are you doing?” Jimmy says in bad voice.

 

Please no, please, please, please, no pun’shment, will be good, very good, please Jimmy please.

 

“Please.”

 

“Let’s get you back to bed.”

 

Yes, back to safe-and-warm, please back to safe-and-warm, please, please.

 

“Please.”

 

“I’ll deal with this in the morning. Don’t do this again. Understand.”

 

Nod. Nod. Nod.

 

Happy back in safe-and-warm, will sleep.

 

\----

 

“Come on, time to get up.”

 

Love soft Jimmy’s hands. Stay still, have soft Jimmy’s hands long. Love Jimmy in the safe-and-warm.

 

“Come on.” Jimmy good voice. Love Jimmy good voice. Turn, let Jimmy hold. Love Jimmy hold me. After time, let Jimmy   
take me out of safe-and-warm. It’s ok, after will be back in safe-and-warm after day. Now go nice bath. Never, never cold water. When get out Jimmy puts the black one on top and blue one on legs. And sit in chair. Look wall, look wall, look wall. Only look wall.

 

Didn’t look wall other day. Look TV. Look colourful yummy drink. Miss Jimmy.

 

“Time for your punishment, for trying to steal food.”

 

“Please.”

 

Oh no. Please don’t hurt House please. No like hurt. Please, please. Jimmy takes away black on top and blue on legs.

 

“I don’t know why you even bothered, you can’t be hungry, he fed you lunch yesterday, and then you had more in the afternoon.”

 

Had to secret fight. Still have to secret fight. Even very very scary, painful, scary.

 

Jimmy brings long hot stick. Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no. Jimmy puts no-noise in mouth. And pushes hot stick on me. OW OW OW OW OW OW AAARGH OOWWW STOP STOP OW PLEASE OW OW. Jimmy removes stick. Puts stick back on other side. OW OW OW OW OW. PAIN PAIN OW OW OW PLEASE STOP OW OW OW OW. Jimmy moves stick again, puts on arm. OW OW OW OW OW OW OW OW OW OW OW OW OW OW OW. Jimmy moves stick again and again.

 

Jimmy puts nice cold thing on pain. Feels nice. Still hurts.

 

“That was two minutes with the pokers; if you try stealing again it will be ten minutes.”

 

No, no, no. Have to secret fight. But no like hot stick. No, no. Sit in chair again. Face wall, always face wall, never safe here. After face wall long time can go back to safe-and-warm. Move eyes in still face. Haven’t been here other days. See new cobwebs. Funny curly shadow, hello again. Pain. Listen to sounds of cars and horses and talking. Pain hurts. So bored, always, so scared, always. Pain, pain, pain. Can smell food. Jimmy puts me at table, lets me have water, then puts me back face wall.

 

Don’t move, look at wall, no noise, no pun’shment, be good, no pun’shment, too much, pain too much.

 

Leg hurts. Sit still. Must sit still. Hurts, hurts. Arm hurts. All hurts. Don’t cry, don’t cry, stay quiet. Oh no, Jimmy’s coming, quiet, quiet, stop crying, stop crying, hurts, hurts, come on quiet.

 

“Those burns are a little vicious aren’t they, here.”

 

Jimmy puts more nice cold thing on the pain. Gives me a tiny white no-pain. Still hurts. Less hurts. Face wall more. Long, long, long time.

 

Face wall, face wall, face wall, face wall, face wall, face wall, face wall, face wall, face wall. Face wall, face wall, face wall, face wall, face wall, face wall, face wall, face wall, face wall. Face wall, face wall, face wall, face wall, face wall, face wall, face wall, face wall, face wall. Face wall, face wall, face wall, face wall, face wall, face wall, face wall, face wall, face wall. Face wall, face wall, face wall, face wall, face wall, face wall, face wall, face wall, face wall.

 

“Time for bed now.”

 

Yes, please, please, back to safe-and-warm. Jimmy put me in soft. Soft bed is soft. Night, night Jimmy. Nice sleep in safe-and-warm.


	14. Confrontation

I tell House that if he wants to eat he can get it himself, now that he knows how. He gives me a look of bemused fear; I smile back and tell him to go ahead, gesturing towards the kitchen cupboards. I grin as he limps hesitantly towards them. House picks up the key and turns it over in his hands, inspecting it with curiosity before turning to the locks.

 

My grin widens even further with amusement as I watch his confusion- as he puzzles over the newly installed key-hole-less combination locks. He bashes the key against the round dial, trying to find a place to insert it. This carries on for several minutes but eventually House gives up, hunching his shoulders in defeat.

 

“I guess that means you’re not eating then.”

 

House gives me a look so filled with despair that the bubbling inside me rev’s up to full power, trying to do something. I feel like taking back what I said and feeding him anyway, but I don’t. Just then there’s a knock on the door.

 

As I open the door I’m a little surprised to find Kelly on the other side of it. I invite her in, and still holding onto the facade of the ever-polite host- I ask her if she’d like something to drink. She declines, she has a serious look on her face; this can’t be good.

 

“Can you sit down; I want to talk about something.” She says with a tone of anxious firmness. I suddenly have a horrible image of the cops in my head.

 

“Ok, what do you want to talk about?” I ask trying to keep my tone politely inquisitive.

 

“Look, I don’t really understand what’s been going on with you but you need to snap out of it.” Kelly says in a no nonsense voice.

 

“I don’t know what you’re worried about, everything is fine.” I say knowing how pathetic it sounds, where the hell is the guy who can talk women into believing the sky is green. My persuasive skills seem to have abandoned me and my mouth feels horribly dry- the kind of dry that an ocean of water doesn’t help with. Kelly just gives me an incredulous stare.

 

“Ok, so things aren’t ok, what are you going to do about it, you’re involved in this just as much as I am, and I’ll be sure to drag you down with me if necessary.” I tell her in what I hope is a nonchalant voice, but to tell the truth I’m annoyed and a little scared.

 

“This isn’t you, and you know it’s not, you need to get a hold of yourself- no one can help you if you’re not going to help yourself.”

 

“This is me, I’m in control I’ve just changed, I’ve become wise to some things, anyway what the hell do you know- you don’t even know me.” I say with barely controlled anger.

 

“Yeh, you’re in so much control, have you even sat down and thought about what Amber would’ve thought about all this?”

 

“I’m doing this for her.” I say through gritted teeth- anger swiftly sliding to fury in response to her assertions.

 

“Don’t you dare say that! You can lie about a lot of things, but don’t pretend you’re some misunderstood martyr; you’re doing this for yourself, because you’re angry and in pain and you have been for so long and you don’t know how to deal. This isn’t House’s fault and it’s definitely not Ambers so don’t blame her!”

 

“I’m not blaming her; don’t even try to pretend you know anything about THIS!!” I yell with outrage- my voice cracking brokenly over the last words; none of this is any of her business.

 

“Do you really think she was such a bitch that she would want revenge like this?”

 

“How dare you, don’t even talk about her, she was wonderful and caring and...”

 

“That’s my point- Amber would be horrified if she saw you doing this, especially in her name!”

 

“This is none of your business; I know what I’m doing, you have no right to talk- you didn’t even know her!”

 

 

“She was my sister.”

 

I let out a hysterical laugh.

 

“Who the HELL do you think YOU ARE, coming in here and making up SHIT, you’re NOBODY, if you’d bothered to check before lying about it you would know she was an only child.”

 

“She lied.”

 

“NO she didn’t. Get the fuck OUT of my house!”

 

“No, I’m staying until I’m finished.”

 

“GET OUT NOW.” I grind out furiously in a low growl, she doesn’t move. I push her out the door and slam it shut, then turn around and lean against it. I look at my hands; they’re shaking.

 

I take a deep shuddery breath and then slowly begin to make breakfast for myself and House.


	15. Frozen Apathy

I go through the motions; doing chores, feeding House his breakfast etc. After the conversation with Kelly my head is a swirl of thoughts. And after breakfast I leave House to do as he pleases, I don’t know why, maybe I’m tired. I just can’t be bothered with any of this anymore; I feel torn, but maybe I’ve been torn for months and I’m only realising it now. I miss Amber.

 

I decide to pack away Amber’s things; a task I have avoided for the past few months, but it’s time. It may not feel like the right time now, but it probably never will- I wonder how long it will feel as though a physical part of me has been wrenched out. Anger is so much easier to handle than hurt. A part of me is also curious to see if I’ll find anything to give me an idea of whether or not Kelly was telling the truth.

 

I look once more at the last note Amber left me and cry and laugh at the fucking wonderful irony.

 

I look at her clothes, they’re so quintessentially Amber in a way I doubt anyone else really understands. I want to keep some, but as I sort through them I quickly realise I will probably end up keeping them all. I decide to start with something easier, something small.

 

 

Ten minutes later I find myself sobbing over a plain turquoise key-ring. I’m so fucking tired.

 

The incessant bubbling of my other self is back again, but it’s not fighting this time, just tugging at me; suggesting it’s time to leave. But I can’t. No matter how tired I am. I can’t leave my other self to look after House like we’re still friends, like none of this matters- like Amber doesn’t matter. I leave her stuff alone; I promise myself I’ll start packing it tomorrow.

 

I try to ignore House as much as possible, and just carry out the basic tasks of feeding him, clothing him and so on. But he keeps trailing after me with a confused and sometimes scared look on his face. I don’t really care. I walk to another room and lock the door behind me. It’s mid-afternoon when he comes up to me with a book urging me to read to him, I spend some time shooing him away but he persists. I yell at him to get lost, he finally gets the message slumping in defeat and hobbling away. I’m filled with disbelief when- not even twenty minutes later- he returns with another book.

 

\------

 

Jimmy gives food. Nice Jimmy back? But Jimmy goes away other room, no nice Jimmy. But no pun’shment, am confused. See what happen, ask read book. Mean Jimmy is mean, but still no pun’shment. Must fight help nice Jimmy come back. Can fight if no get pun’shment; fight easy.

 

Shiny sun glitters on table, move glass make colours glitter round, round. Glass make nice music.

 

Go back soon ask read again. Jimmy shout loud, shout loud more, more. No like Jimmy shout loud. But must push see what happens; so when Jimmy stops I ask again Jimmy read. Jimmy throws book at wall. Me scared, no throw book at me though, just at wall. Jimmy very angry, but still no pun’shment. So can proper fight Jimmy; will proper fight Jimmy.

 

\-----

 

The next day I manage to postpone packing up Ambers stuff until the afternoon, so it’s around quarter past three when I stumble upon some tucked away photo albums. I turn the pages carefully; I feel as though they are sacred tombs; ready to either unlock their secrets to me or to curse me. The first one I look through is clearly the most recent; it has a deep red cover and a gold gilt border that unlike the others hasn’t dulled in the slightest. I can tell straight away from the thickness that it’s still half empty.

 

I find some photo’s of Amber with me, I finger her face, she seems happy. Most of her recent photos are still on the computer and I only have to flick through a few pages before I get to her med school graduation photos- she’s wearing a long purple gown and a smug smirk that looks both beautiful and terrifying. My heart lurches as I remember how young she was.

 

Another album is filled with pictures from her time in college; it seems that Amber had subscribed to the work-hard-play-hard motto for a long time. I stare at the other faces wondering who these people were to her, whether they still mourn her, miss her, wake at night with a broken cry at the thought of being without her today, and tomorrow, and thousands of tomorrows after. I remember seeing some of them at the funeral but I hadn’t really taken in their names or who they were.

 

The third and final album has an array of photos from various different times, the earliest being her high-school graduation. There are many pages filled with rectangular discolourations- the home of photo’s that used to be. She had never wanted to talk about her childhood but then I hadn’t wanted to talk about mine either, so it hadn’t been an issue.

 

I move through the pages with my hands hovering over the rectangles as though they were little photo graves, capable of revealing the secrets of their long dead occupiers. I’m just about resigned to the idea that I won’t find anything that would reveal the mysteries of her childhood, and then I see the final page. There’s a small black and white photo; five children of varying ages are within it, smiling and laughing. A boy is standing pointing at something off camera- he looks around twelve, and a small kid in the foreground is playing on a tricycle. There’s a girl of about ten sitting playing with a toy stethoscope, looking closely it is obviously Amber. When I see the older girl sitting next to her I should be surprised but I’m not; it’s Kelly.

 

I sigh and the air feels like it is floating out of me.


	16. Phonecall

I phone Kelly, thoughts and questions buzzing around my head like a swarm of midges. I ask her to come over, she eventually agrees. But when she finally arrives I don’t know what to say; I feel numb. I make her some tea. And then we sit opposite each other in an awkward silence that seems to stretch into infinity.

 

“You meant a lot to her.” Kelly finally says. I stay silent, the words have disappeared.

 

“What did you want to talk about?” She eventually asks.

 

“It’s just, well... why?” I ask.

 

“Could you elaborate, just so I know what I’m answering?” Kelly mocks lightly.

 

“I don’t know. Why did she lie, why did you lie, why did she want to hide her childhood, why are you here, why is everything so out of control... I guess just why”.

 

“She lied because she didn’t want you to know about it. And I’m here because she asked me to take care of you.”

 

“Now who’s being vague? Didn’t want me to know about what?” I say, taking in the second part of Kelly’s sentence with surprise.

 

“She didn’t want you to know, so I’m going to respect that and not tell you.”

 

“I think the situation is a little different now, you think she still wouldn’t want me to know?”

 

“Knowing Amber she’d want me to tell you, but not until you got your act together.”

 

“She loved me; she’d expect me to grieve.”

 

“You’re not acting like the guy she fell in love with.”

 

“You just said she’d want you to tell me.”

 

“When you’re yourself again, I will.”

 

“What the hell do you want from me?”

 

“You already know. I have to go now, call me when you’re ready to stop being so angry.”

 

Kelly leaves and I just sit staring into space, my mind is filled with clouded abstraction; like it has often been over these past few days. I wouldn’t consider changing what I’ve been doing just to find out what Kelly knows; there are other ways to get information. But she did strike a chord, maybe it is time for a change, even if it’s just a small one.

 

I decide to order pizza for our dinner and the look of joy on House’s face as he picks it apart rankles with me slightly; it feels like a phantom cat scratching on the blackboard of my soul.

 

\----

 

 

It’s about seven in the evening when Cuddy calls, I chat briefly with her before handing the phone over to House. I listen carefully to his side of the conversation as I do the washing up; by now House has learned to only say what he’s allowed to but there’s still the occasional slip up that needs damage control.

 

\----

 

I like talk to Lisa. Lisa fun. Lisa come watch TV eat red lollipop. Talk, talk, talk. Must secret fight Jimmy. Scary, very scary, but must secret fight. She talks, I talk, she talks. Now, must secret fight now. Talk more, don’t want secret fight; scared. Talk, talk. Will secret fight, quietly, quietly.

 

\----

 

 

“It hurts.” He whimpers quietly. I tense, immediately moving to stand in front of him. And all thoughts of change rapidly fly out of the window as mild panic ensues at the idea of being caught. I stay calm.

 

“You know I can’t give you more pills House, you’ll overdose.” I say in a compassionate tone making sure my voice is loud enough for Cuddy to hear.

 

I give him a threatening glare and he looks back with a defiant gleam in his eyes. I should take the phone off of him before he can make this worse but that would be too suspicious. House’s wall of rebellion seems strong but I can still see the slithers of fear rotting the brick-work. I try to grasp hold of the fear- I place my hand over his right thigh giving him a significant look. He shivers looking down at my hand and looks ready to back down, but then he takes a deep breath and speaks.

 

“Jimmy ...hurts me.”

 

 

 

“Is your arm still hurting? Let’s have another look.” I say maintaining a concerned tone while fiddling with the bandage on his arm loudly.

 

“Oh crap!” I snatch the phone off of House “Cuddy I’ll have to call you back.”

 

“What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

 

“Everything’s ok, it’s just we had a little mishap earlier.” I say making sure I sound worried and distracted, and not at all concerned with what Cuddy thinks of what House said. I make sounds of moving objects about; searching.

 

“Where’s that damn first aid kit gotten too...”

 

“Wilson?”

 

“Yeh? Oh sorry a little busy here. House needed a couple of stitches... which he has now somehow managed to tear.”

 

“You should bring him to the hospital.”

 

“It’s just a small injury, I’m just overreacting a bit- you know how I worry about him, besides you know how upset hospitals make him now.”

 

“Yeh, I know.”

 

 

“I really have to go now.”

 

“Ok, bye.”

 

I hang up the phone before turning to House.

 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I spit out with maliciousness. He trembles before getting himself under control, he slowly lifts his eyes until they lock firmly onto mine, I see fear and anger swim together in the deep blues. He whispers one word, but it’s terribly clear.

 

“War.”


	17. Consequence

I stare at House completely stunned; my first instinct is to show him just how bad his new idea would be for him. But I calm myself down, that can wait for later; when I’m sure Cuddy won’t just drop buy- despite my best efforts she must be at least a little suspicious by now. I decide to put House to bed, that will at least give me the excuse of not wanting to disturb him if she does turn up.

 

“Time for bed.” I tell House, he hesitates, clearly surprised by my response to his declaration of war. I can practically see his inner struggle as he squirms in his seat, before finally responding;

 

“No.”

 

“The longer you’re disobedient, the worse your punishment will be.”

 

“No.”

 

“Maybe I’ll start with the pokers, and then the belt.”

 

“No.” House says remaining defiant even though he’s terrified.

 

I try to pull him towards his bedroom, it’s quite a struggle and I’m reminded of how much he is recovering from the brain damage. Eventually I get him into the room but he refuses to lie down so I leave him in there locking the door behind me.

 

\-----

 

In the morning I handcuff House’s wrists together and cuff his ankles together before waking him, so he can’t fight me. He startles with confusion as he awakens and notices the restraints, he’s understandably upset by them and their implications, and starts whining and pulling at them. I have to wait about twenty minutes before he sighs in defeat, I’ll always be the one in control and he knows it.

 

I cut his clothes off telling him it’s time for his bath; he struggles against me until I end up accidentally cutting him, afterwards I nudge him out of the room. He keeps stumbling as he moves because there isn’t enough give on the ankle-cuffs for his limping gait. I give him a helping hand as we head towards the bathroom.

 

I lock the bathroom door once we’re inside and tuck the key into my pocket. I know the exact second that House realizes what I intend for him. He starts shouting and trying to pull the door open in a panic.

 

“See, I told you things could get a lot worse for you than they already are.” I tell him as he aims a petrified stare towards the ice-cubes bobbing in the water. I pull him towards the tub, he puts up as much resistance as the restraints afford him but I manage to get him next to the bath fairly quickly. He drops to the floor in an attempt to stop me, but I corner him.

 

House grabs on to my leg and gives me a pleading look, he’s already shaking violently.

 

“Please... Jimmy.”

 

“You’re the one who wanted war.”

 

“Sorry...sorry...please.”

 

“I can’t let you go around defying me.”

 

“I’ll... be... good.”

 

“That’s what this is going to ensure.”

 

“Please...please.” House’s voice breaks and he squeezes my leg tighter.

 

“No more war?”

 

“No...War.”

 

“And you will do everything I tell you to?”

 

“Yes.” He says nodding vigorously.

 

“Promise me.”

 

“Promise...Please...Jimmy.”

 

“I’m the one in charge, the one in control, you can do as you’re told or suffer the consequences.”

 

“Yes...please...please.” House begs, clearly trying to convey complete compliance.

 

“Well it’s good that you understand that, but unfortunately I have to make sure you don’t forget it.”

 

He glances up at me- still shaking- with a look of defeat, waiting for me to haul him into his watery torture chamber.

 

“House.” I say gently, stroking his cheek. “I’ll let you off this time, but listen carefully... next time you try something like this, and this is a promise; you will be getting an ice-bath”.

 

House slumps forward with relief, I open the door and he hurriedly scrambles out on all fours. Satisfied that I’ve made my   
point, I sit down on the couch and turn on the TV. House crawls towards me and collapses on the ground at my feet.

 

“Jimmy?” House asks with a small voice. He leans against my leg and I feel his body trembling against me.

 

“Come here.” I say softly. He climbs up onto the sofa and lays his head in my lap, clinging onto my shirt- desperately seeking comfort. I rub his back with all the tenderness I can muster but he begins sobbing loudly. I speak soothingly while stroking his hair.

 

“Hush, it’s ok, everything’s ok.”

 

I feel my shirt grow wet with tears and I carry on whispering soft words as I rub his back; he lets out horrifically despairing noises every time I stop.

 

House continues to sob for several minutes until he finally quiets down, but his head still stays in my lap. We stay in that position for a couple of hours.

 

\-----

 

 

I give up trying to focus on the neurology department's proposal for new equipment; the phone conversation I had yesterday is still playing on my mind, I’ve barely slept. I know it’s ridiculous; this is Wilson we’re talking about, Wilson. House was probably just being House and whining about his pills. My mind is just running away with me, but why would he say that? The words ring in my ears. Jimmy hurts me. At the time Wilson’s explanation made sense; mainly because he seemed much more concerned about House’s injury than worried about convincing me of anything. Now looking back on it, it feels like a dismissal.

 

But every time I’ve visited things have looked fine, better than fine actually- they’ve been great. I’ve often admired how well Wilson holds up looking after House and so have others. What could be going on though? Am I actually entertaining the thought that the man who has –for the past decade- always tried to help House, is hurting him, abusing him even?

 

What’s much more likely is that House was trying to use the limited communication available to him to tell me that Wilson wasn’t giving him enough Vicodin. This makes sense, after all Wilson’s concern for House’s long-term health has lead to him sometimes overlooking how much pain House is in. Maybe I’ll have to have a talk with Wilson, and get a better feel for the situation.

 

\-----

 

House is still distressed a few hours later, so I decide to leave him in his bedroom. I know he thinks of it as a sanctuary of sorts, and I’ve kept it that way for situations such as this; it makes things less annoying and reduces the number of times I’ve had to get up in the middle of the night because of his nightmares.

 

\------

 

It’s good in safe and warm room. Scared, scared, scared now. No ice-bath- can’t have ice-bath. Don’t know what to do. No ice-bath. Hug pillow, the soft pillow is blue. Remember Ice-bath, long time since now, it hurt, every time, every time it hurt. And too too cold. Dad push back in back in; take it like a man. Ice-bath too much. Should I fight still or not? Will ice-bath make me broke? Must be strong.

 

\------

 

I sigh as I hear House’s upset tossing and turning. I’m immensely surprised by how severe his reaction has been considering I didn’t even put him in the water. I make a mental note that an ice-bath isn’t an option no matter how disobedient he gets. After all, there are plenty of other persuasive punishments in my arsenal if he chooses to continue the war.


	18. Precipice

It is early afternoon the next day before House works up the nerve to confront me again, there’s the possibility that he had just waited until after I gave him lunch to stop me from using food as a bargaining tool, but I doubt that was the entire point.

 

I can tell it’s taking every ounce of his strength for him to stand up to me, and I feel an odd surge of pride for him. I’ve already decided to forgo the promised Ice-bath; there are plenty of other punishments that are just as good. But he doesn’t need to know that just yet.

 

“You really want that Ice-bath don’t you?”

 

House worries his lip, eyes flicking briefly to the bathroom door.

 

“I know you’re scared, all you have to do is promise to behave yourself, and we can forget this whole thing.”

 

House looks between me and the door with a troubled look on his face; it appears as though every fibre of his being wants to take the out, but after a couple of minutes he resignedly shakes his head. Apparently he’s going to fight me all the way to the end.

 

I consider my options, Cuddy called earlier saying she would be coming by for a visit this weekend. So I have until then to not only beat the fight out of him, but also make him terrified of even the idea of fighting. This has to be brutally nipped in the bud before it can snow-ball. If it comes to the worst, Cuddy’s visit will end with me being hauled away in cuffs; I may as well make the most of the time that’s left.

 

As I plan I know I would usually find what I’m going to do difficult, but I’m too angry to care, when things looked like they could be sorted House just had to screw things up, and now I have to deal with Cuddy. And also all the Kelly issues. And then there’s Amber. And everything churns inside, rage burning through me like acid. I would usually find this difficult (excessive as well) but then I was weak, the rage makes me strong; I can do whatever I need to do.

 

I decide to start simple- to leave me with room to move. It will also give me the chance to tell the difference between him pretending to give in to staunch punishment, and actually giving in. To be honest I wasn’t expecting him to start fighting me again after his semi-breakdown yesterday. I have to make sure I’m not fooled again.

 

House continues to struggle against me but doesn’t get far with the handcuffs and ankle-cuffs. He bites my hand as I try to put the gag in his mouth so I slap him a couple of times, in response he spits in my face. My rage increases, he’s just making what I have to do easier and easier.

 

I tie him face down on the table so he can’t resist me. Then I bring belt down on him savouring the sound of it cracking against his back over and over again. When it’s time for the second part of my plan I untie him.

 

As I drag House towards his bedroom he gives me a confused look, not understanding why I would allow him back into his sanctuary so soon, especially given the disobedience. What he’s failed to realise is that in true war, there are no sacred grounds.

 

I hold up the belt again, waiting for understanding to dawn, I smile at the expression of growing horror as he figures out that the one place he has to count on amidst the pain is about to be destroyed for him.

 

\----

 

No. It’s safe here. Safe and warm, must stay safe. Need place, while pain, pain, pain can wait for safe place. Can’t take away safe place. Oh God, oh God. Hurt all the time, scared all the time, safe place keeps me ok, need it. Don’t ruin safe place; please, please, please.

 

\----

 

 

He pleads with me, I ignore him; I won’t be weak like yesterday. I start hitting him with the belt again. I carry on for a long while, lash after lash after lash as he screams and cries and tries to get away from me.

 

After I finish I look down upon his broken form, I order him to look at me, and he does so immediately.

 

“This is what things are going to be like from now on. It’s going to be constant, punishment after punishment after punishment. I might leave you alone for a little bit, but then I’ll come back and start again, you’ll never be safe- even when I’m not hurting you you’ll know I will be soon- and you won’t know when I’ll come for you whether it’s five minutes or a couple of hours.”

 

“I’ll be...good.” He begs distraught.

 

“Yeh, I bet you will. When we’re finished here there’ll be no question of that.”

 

When I start again I use my fists, and later move on to the belt, and later still I move on to whatever other instruments I can find; wooden spoon, a bit of copper pipe, etc. I go back and forth between all my tools, but I prefer using the belt. It has been about three hours when I pick up the copper pipe again and House pisses himself in fear. I decide to give him a break for a bit; after all it’s going to be a long night.

 

\------

 

 

I tiredly look at the clock, it’s three in the morning, I’ve been beating him on and off for around twelve hours. It’s time for a nap, three hours should be enough; I can’t be sleeping on the job when there’s work to be done. I’ll just have another nap in the afternoon. I put headphones on him- attaching them firmly to his head with duct tape and then put some heavy metal on with the volume turned up.

 

“Can’t have you falling asleep can we.” I smirk.

 

 

I return to him at half six in the morning and he’s pretty much in the same state I left him in; sweat-plastered hair on his forehead along with a general sheen of sweat over his battered body, his trembling has decreased but he’s still biting on his lower lip. He tenses in terror when I pull the headphones off.

 

As I start beating him again, I notice the whimpers and cries are gone, he’s too exhausted to make a sound. There’s a thought flitting around saying things are getting out of control, but I throw it into the night and lose it to the darkness. At points it seems like I’m pummelling an object without life in it, but he’s still awake, I’m careful not to knock him out; that would be a waste of time. But of course inevitably the pain and exhaustion causes him to fall into unconsciousness. It’s around ten in the morning; that just won’t do.

 

I leave him alone for about half an hour before holding some smelling salts under his nose. The struggle of his battered body trying to keep him asleep is clearly visible but he eventually awakens and I can continue. His eyelids droop over red eyes and the broken creature splays motionless taking blow after blow helplessly until I choose to end it.

 

“Only you would go to war with someone who so clearly has the upper hand.” I say as I leave the room, allowing him to sleep for a few hours. It’s a quarter to four in the afternoon.


	19. Inner Struggle

My struggles against my other self are still useless, much to my frustration. I wince as I look at House whimpering and pleading, his only sanctuary has been taken away, he is being beaten repeatedly, he has no hope for mercy, and I don’t know how long he can go on. This has to end now. I tell myself for the millionth time that it’s my body and I am in control, as though that will make it come true; nothing happens.

 

Then like a light shining through the darkness I get an idea. I’ve been fighting on the basis of trying to gain complete control, so that is what my other self always expects, that is what he fights with regards to stop me. If I go for a draw instead of a win I might be able to catch him out and surprise him. While he’s trying to push all of me down if I stop trying to push all of myself up and focus on just a little bit getting through I might be able to get through just enough. I only need a few moments, what I want to do when I get those moments is a little extreme, but desperate times call for desperate measures; and it’s the only way.

 

My other self watches House as he is finally allowed some sleep. His bare body lies there black and blue and bloodied, swollen and slashed –a wounded animal with no hope of rescue.

 

It’s time to make dinner; this is what I’ve been waiting for. Thankfully House is in a deep sleep due to fatigue. I really wouldn’t want him to wake up during this.

 

Chop. Chop. Chop. Chop. Chop.

 

I listen to the sounds of a meal being prepared; this is the cadence to which I must play.

 

Chop. Chop. Chop. Chop.

 

It would only take a few moments for him to catch on, but like I said moments are all I need. I have to time this just right.

 

Chop. Chop. Chop. Chop. Chop.

 

I’m oddly calm about what I have to do; at least House will be safe. I just need control of my hands, nothing else, just my hands. Nevertheless I push with my whole self outwards, praying to a God I’m not sure exists that the decoy will work; that the whole plan will work.

 

Chop. Chop. Chop. Chop.

 

I smile as I feel the beginnings of resistance. Strong and firm and ridden with all his energy.

 

Chop. Chop. Chop. Chop. Chop.

 

Two Titans clash within one vessel. In that instant I pull back. And he’s using all his energy to push against nothingness.

 

Chop. Chop. Chop. Chop.

 

In the split-second before he pushes me all the way back down, I push my hands through. I move the knife with quick precision.

 

Slice. Slice.

 

And then my other self is back in complete control, but the music has already died; the fat lady has already sung. I hear my voice curse as blood empties onto towels pushed against my wrists. The cuts are too deep to handle the phone let alone dial for an ambulance; I made sure.


	20. Red

“House! House, get your ass out here!”

 

No, no, no more pain. Jimmy hurt me more if no listen, must move but can’t. Move hurts. Jimmy shouts more, Jimmy angry. No, no, no, must be good, can’t have more pain. Move arm, move slow, slow, ow, ow, ow. Hurts, hurts, but must get to Jimmy. Crawl self along floor. Hard floor is hard and rough, pain. All hurts everywhere, lots and lots. No more move, move hurts.

 

But if make Jimmy angry, Jimmy hurt me more, more, more. Must move, little bit, little bit, ouch, little bit, ouch, ouch.

 

At room door. High handle is high. Reach, up, up, Oww. Turn, turn handle, turn, turn, open. Pull door, fall on floor. Don’t cry, up, move, move. Stay on floor.

 

Must move, Jimmy angry, pull door more. Crawl out of room.

 

 

NOOOOOO. No no no no no. Jimmy! NOOO. Red everywhere, everywhere, no. Wake up Jimmy. Please, please wake up. Push Jimmy, wake up, wake up, wake up. Get red on me, wet red covers me. I cry.

 

Jimmy not waking up. Need get help. How get help. How get help. How get help. Phone! Can talk on phone! Get phone, move hurts, but must get phone, must help Jimmy. Ow, ow, ow. Pick up phone, slippy phone is slippy in red-covered hands. Hold phone tight. Phone important, help important. What now? I look at phone and look at phone and look at phone. I sob. What do now? Have to press buttons, which buttons, too many buttons, don’t know what do. I cry and hit the floor and cry some more. Must Phone NOW. Too many buttons. Upset, but must do this. Sob. It’s just another puzzle. Old long-ago voice whispers. Know this, know this, know this. Urgh. Think, think, think.

 

How Jimmy used phone? Think, think. Must remember Jimmy phone. Think. Remember Jimmy press lots buttons. Don’t remember buttons. WHY don’t remember. MUST remember. Hurts. Not normal hurts, hurts inside. Remember, remember. Don’t remember so many buttons.

 

Try to pull everything together in head. Still can’t remember too many buttons. Wait! Sometimes Jimmy use less buttons. Less buttons phone Jimmy mum. Less buttons phone pizza. Less buttons phone Kelly. Must remember less buttons. Must phone Kelly.

 

Look at phone. Think hard. Sort of remember. This button first. But what if wrong? Press and find out. Press button, next which? Think this or this, maybe this, just press. Then phone-picture button. Hold phone softly. Whisper to phone, please, please work.

 

 

 

Ring-ring. Ring-ring.

 

“Hello?” It’s Kelly! Phone worked!

 

“Jimmy ...hurt.”

 

“What’s happened, are you ok?”

 

“No... wake..up.”

 

“I’ll be right over, don’t worry House, everything’s going to be fine.”

 

“Quickly.”

 

“Yeah, I’ll be there as quick as I can.”

 

Drop phone on floor and go to Jimmy. More red, must stop red. How stop red? Think, think, think. Know but don’t know. If don’t get this, Jimmy will die. Hold onto all thoughts. Everything together. Must get this. Will get this. Will save Jimmy. Know this. Remember please remember. Memories suddenly float around. Life ago staring at people inside big glass boxes. Big whiteboards and big smelly pens. There was pain then too.

 

Wrap round, round, save Jimmy. Pull my shirt off, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow. Pick Jimmy arm, wrap round and round and round. Pick other arm, wrap towel round and round. Pressure. Hold tight, very tight. Please don’t die.

 

\----

 

 

“Jimmy ...hurt.”

 

I do a double-take; astonished as I hear House’s voice at the other end of the phone. I curse myself for thinking my little speech would make things better for House and not worse. I’m an idiot. I wonder what Wilson has done to him now. I’m already pulling on my coat and getting my keys as I talk to House. I assure him I’ll be there ASAP. I try to keep talking to him as though the phone-line itself is a security blanket that could magically keep him safe.

 

I hear the phone fall to the ground and for a moment I’m terrified. But nothing seems to be happening. I hear House shuffling around and I wince at the hissing and whining sounds that escape him. I wonder how bad it is this time. There was something in House’s voice, something I haven’t heard before. My hope of getting the old Dr Wilson back seems ridiculous now; a childish pipe-dream borne of desperation. The drive over has me jittering constantly- probably not a good thing given how much I’m over the speed limit by.

 

The key under the mat feels like a wriggling caterpillar in my hands, I somehow still manage to get it into the key-hole. As I open the door I freeze at the picture before me. They look like they’ve been in a war. House holding Wilson, both bloodied and broken, sitting in a pool of blood. House’s shirtless body reveals skin that has turned a mixture of colours that no one expects to see on human beings. The cool-headed-nurse in me has vanished, I know them and this is horrific.

 

“Help.”

 

House’s voice snaps me out of my trance and I immediately reach for the discarded phone, dialling 911 and giving the operator all the information she needs as I check Dr Wilson’s vitals. Pulse is faint but there and he’s also still breathing. I hang up and re-assess Dr Wilson’s condition, House hasn’t actually done that bad a job in dealing with Dr Wilson’s injuries. I adjust the shirt and towel to ensure they work as well as possible. House clearly needs to be looked over also, but he’s intent on focusing on Dr Wilson, I suppose it can wait until the ambulance gets here.

 

While holding Dr Wilson’s bandaged wrists I take a moment to consider the situation. There’s no way House did this- he couldn’t even if he wanted to. But it’s clear something big happened- the last time House looked this bad it was after Russell had gone to town on him. So Wilson must have done this to himself, possibly a guilt-ridden response to the beating he’d given House. Now that meant something, I felt slithers of hope returning. If there is a chance that the person he was, is coming back, I can’t let things go to hell now.

 

I look at House again and my insides clench in turmoil, as though my organs are readying themselves to be swallowed alive by the monstrous decision that must be made. Dr Wilson did this and it means something, I have to find out what before letting anything happen. I’ll have plenty of time to think while he’s in the hospital and if he does pull through I’m definitely not leaving him alone with House again. I’ll have to move in. I don’t have to let Dr Wilson get caught just yet, there’s plenty of time for that later.

 

So I urge House to go back to his bedroom and he protests saying that he wants to stay with Wilson. I tell him if the paramedics find him here in this state he probably won’t be seeing Wilson ever again. At that House reluctantly agrees to let me put him in his bedroom. I pause for a second in the lunacy. Am I really going to do this when House is clearly in need of medical attention? I check him over quickly- surprisingly there don’t seem to be any broken bones. I can probably handle this, and if it gets more serious I can always take him to the hospital later. After settling House on his bed I go back out to look after Dr Wilson and just then the paramedics arrive.

 

I watch the ambulance drive away with Dr Wilson inside and wonder whether I’ve done the right thing.


	21. Aftermath

Cuddy's POV

As soon as I hear that Wilson is being brought into the ER I want to run through the hospital to his side, but I know I have to let his doctors do their jobs. I can help more by picking up the phone and making sure arrangements are in place for Wilson to be looked after as well as possible, but first I tell my assistant to go down to the ER and keep me updated on his condition.

 

When I’ve done all I can I sit back in my chair thinking. I knew something was up, if I had done something sooner maybe this wouldn’t have happened. How did Wilson manage to convince everyone he was coping so well right up to the moment he tried to kill himself? I’m snapped out of my thoughts by a shrill ringing and I pick up the phone. Wilson’s heart has stopped.

 

\----

 

Kelly's POV

I hear the sirens long after the ambulance has gone. I get the first aid kid and go back to the bedroom to tend to House. I’ll need more than the meagre medical accoutrements provided in the small green box, but it’s a start. He whimpers as I check more carefully for any breaks and I try to soothe him, try to convince him that the nightmare is over. He doesn’t believe me.

 

House is understandably exhausted and falls asleep soon after I’m finished patching him up. I leave him to get more supplies, telling myself it’s highly unlikely that he’ll wake in the short time I’m gone.

 

\----

 

Cuddy's POV

 

Wilson’s heart stopped beating three minutes ago, I think about the possible brain damage that could occur if it isn’t restarted soon. I watch through the glass as paddles violently jerk his body. He has been given a lot of blood, but he has lost a lot of it too.

 

Suddenly the monitor beeps announcing a pulse.

 

\-----

 

Kelly's POV

There are distressed sounds coming from House’s room when I return, he’s obviously still in a lot of pain. I take out some of the morphine I just got and head into his room.

 

“Hey, ssh, it’s ok.” I say gently caressing him- that usually calms him down when he’s upset but I’m not surprised when it doesn’t help much, I continue to caress him anyway; even if it’s only doing a little good it’s something.

 

“I’m just going to give you something to take away the pain, it’s going to be ok.” I say as I inject him with the morphine, soon afterward he falls into a semi-peaceful sleep.

 

I decide to call the hospital to find out how Dr Wilson is doing, I’m told that his heart stopped but he’s stable now and doing ok.

 

\-----

 

Over the next week I watch over House closely, doing everything I can for him; from gently tending to his wounds –both physical and emotional- to ordering his favourite breakfast cereal. The days pass in a surreal blur of whispered nothings passing my lips. House is a little less jittery than he was, but is still convinced Wilson will be back any minute to continue his torture, I do my best to persuade him otherwise as my sleep-deprived mind tells me to just give up and go to bed.

 

Cuddy comes by saying she wants to see House, I say he’s still upset after finding Wilson bleeding to death and doesn’t want to see anyone, I’m told Wilson is doing ok- he’s in the psych ward and on suicide watch. We argue a bit more, and Cuddy seems to give up when I say I’m just doing what’s best for House. But she comes back a couple of days later saying she’s taking House with her, Wilson apparently agreed it was for the best that she take House off his hands for a little while, and I point out that we don’t even know when Wilson will be released. The argument goes on, Cuddy is insistent but I stay firm and eventually she leaves.

 

\-----

 

I rush to House’s side as another nightmare strikes, he clings to me and I curl around him, we stay in that position silently through the night.

 

\-----

 

At the nine day mark House anxiously tries to venture out of his room for the first time, he hesitates as though waiting for a predator to jump him, sighs, and then heads back to his bed.

 

\-----

 

After thirteen days he stands stubbornly in the doorway for a long while before retreating into his room again.

 

\-----

 

It has been fifteen days when House eventually moves forward into the living room. We smile at each other, and apparently we’re pretending this isn’t a big deal. He continues to the sofa, this time slow because of his injuries, not his fear.

 

\----

 

He sits curled up on the sofa next to me and we watch a whole lot of pointless television, then we do the same the next day and the day after, it seems to be all he wants to do. I’m concerned by it but he seems contented so I decide to leave it alone for now.

 

\----

 

As time goes on, House heals reasonably well –physically at least- of course many of the bruises will remain for months, but at least I haven’t had to take him in to the hospital. It has been three weeks since the day I was faced with House and Wilson in the pool of blood, and I still don’t know whether I did the right thing. But I’m about to find out.

 

\------

 

Wilson's POV

I’ve managed to convince the shrinks that I’m no longer a suicide risk and I’m scheduled for release in two hours. I’ve also managed to convince one of the nurses to give me a laptop; I have an email to send. I can still feel my other self bubbling around and I’m not taking any chances this time. I start writing and I can’t stop, tears stream down my cheeks as I read through the detailed confession. I set the email on a timer, it will send automatically in twelve hours. It’s a bit risky since that’s more than enough time for my other self to do more serious damage but there’s still a lot to be done. I would hand myself in right now if I thought House would be ok, but I know I have to say goodbye properly and reassure him that there’s nothing to be afraid of; reassure him that I won’t ever be hurting him again.

 

Kelly tells me that House is lying in his bed, I move towards his room cautiously. I decide to go in on my knees so I’m not towering over him. As he spots me moving towards him he’s understandably afraid of my presence and desperately tries to move away. I stop and hold my hands up in what I hope is a calming gesture. After a few minutes he seems to understand that I don’t plan on hurting him and he calms-down a little, at which point I move to his side.

 

All I want to do is hug him and tell him everything’s going to be alright but I’m sure me touching him will do more harm than good, which is why I’m astounded a few minutes later when he reaches for me, gripping my wrists with desperation. I allow him to pull me towards him and I end up lying down beside him. I don’t know how he can do this; lie there looking at me with eyes full of trust. I need to throw up. I don’t deserve him, I never have, he should want to beat the crap out of me, and I tell him so. I tell him I’ll just let him do whatever he wants to me and I won’t retaliate.

 

“You... bad. Me not... bad.” Is his only response. I nod and he holds me a little tighter. Eventually he falls asleep.

 

\-----

 

I stand in front of the mirror looking into my eyes; trying to spot him; I know he’s in there. House is too good a person to get revenge, so I will have to on his behalf. Although I admit I’m mainly doing this for myself, it’s fucked-up but watching yourself beat your best friend half to death would make anyone a little crazy.

 

I pick up the razor blade. Maybe if I cut deep enough I’ll reach the dark shadow floating inside me. But I can’t; it’s not yet time to die. So shallow cuts it is then; the thing will feel the pain anyway and that’s the main issue. I apply pressure to the blade pushing it slowly into my arm, I drag it down the length of my arm. Then I repeat, and repeat. I see it in the mirror and hold it with my stare- it can’t hide from me anymore. I watch it as I make another slice. The pain is immense; I imagine my other self screaming in agony. The pain drives me on; I want to hurt it as much as it has hurt House. I want to hurt myself as much as I’ve hurt House.

 

I force myself to stop before I can do too much damage because dying would be too much of an easy out. Then I bandage up the cuts and pull my jumper sleeves down over them.

 

A couple of hour’s later House calls out my name, I’ve been numbly staring into space and it takes me a minute to get myself together and go to him. We have five hours before the email sends. I ask him what’s wrong and he says he wants me to stay. We have the same conversation we’ve had before, and after the past few weeks he understands more than anyone that he’s better off without me. I try to convince him that he’ll have a good time with Cuddy but he remains unconvinced. He is silent on the drive over to Cuddy’s house.

 

Cuddy asks me if I have any advice for taking care of him. I give her a list of things even though I know the information she’ll find out in a couple of hours will probably result in her throwing said list in the bin. She has agreed to look after him for a week or so while I get myself together after the ‘suicide attempt’, I know when she finds out she’ll take him in on a more permanent basis, but I have to make sure.

 

“Whatever you do, don’t leave him with his parents.” I say with a serious look, she won’t get the significance now but I hope that she will understand its significance later- despite everything. Then I turn to House.

 

“Everything’s going to be alright now.” I whisper as we hug.

 

“Miss... you.”

 

“I’ll miss you too.”

 

“Goodbye.”

 

“Bye... Jimmy.” He says softly. We both have tears in our eyes.

 

I go home and wait for the cops to show up; I’m arrested at eight in the evening.


End file.
